Everyone Is Wise Until He Speaks
by Teanni
Summary: How often can you get away with putting your foot in your mouth before you're hit with a 'Brogue Kick? It's tough starting a new job, it's even tougher when you have to prove yourself. Nina quickly has to get creative, working for the creative team before they decide they don't want her after all... Sheamus/OC
1. Murphy's Law

**Disclaimer:** This is a non profit fanfiction. I do not own anything associated with the trademark WWE and am purely writing this fic out of fan-appreciation. In other words: Please don't sue!

* * *

He had just asked her a question and she had trouble answering it. Internally she berated herself for not being any good at situations like that. She had no clue how to deal with authority. As the years went by, she had learned the she would never master the talent of brown nosing or pretending she was someone she was not. Despite of her initial hesitation upon first hearing the question, she started to regain confidence. If her character didn't agree with them, if they found her too obnoxious, too loud mouthed and whatnot, then they just might have to deal with it. If, however, they chose to give her the job, she would work her ass off to proof everyone her worth. She stuck out her chin and subconsciously sat a little straighter in the chair as her short trimmed fingernails dug into the leather of the armrest.

"You want to know what I'm thinking about the storyline? I think it's been milked for what it's worth. Why don't you let him wreak some havoc once in a while? After all he has the word warrior printed on his T-shirt. Right now things are sort of lukewarm. I say, let's spice them up a little."

The man regarded her over the rim of his glasses. She stared right back at him. It was unnerving how to see her own image reflected back at her through the glasses of his spectacles. The man cleared his throat, the air conditioning was buzzing above their heads. "So what you are saying is that we haven't maxed out the potential of his character yet?"

"I'm saying you've strayed from the original idea, which was brilliant, mind you, but right now there's something missing," she explained, scooting to the edge of the seat. In front of her, on the table, there was a carafe filled with ice cold water, condensation drops were trailing down its sides, next to it some empty glasses. She'd figured it was one of those mind games companies liked to play. The first poor interviewee who poured himself a drink would immediately be disqualified or something like that. She had just criticized the company and the storyline they had worked out for one of their major players, so she might as well take a sip. Her throat was still dry anyway. With shaking hands she poured herself a glass of water, spilling some of it one the desk in the process. Her eyes grew large when she noticed her mistake and she muttered an embarrassed apology as she wiped at the water stain with the sleeve of her shirt.

"So Miss Stewart, what do you think qualifies you better than the person currently assigned to the job?" the man folded his manicured hands on the table surface in front of him, ignoring her little mishap. And here she had thought she would meet up with a guy in a muscle shirt and a fake suntan. Apparently wrestling was a multimillion dollar business machinery and its CEOs didn't look like a cloned down version of Triple H.

The question was still hovering in the air and judging by the look on the man's face, he was growing more and more impatient for her to answer it. She took a deep sip from her glass of water before placing it back on the table in front of her ever so gingerly. "That's a tricky question," she chuckled, her nerves showing, "I'm aware I'm supposed to say something confident now like 'Because I'm the best at what I do', but that would make me sound rather conceited and what's even worse, like the female version of the Wolverine," she paused waiting for him to smirk at her joke. He didn't. Tough crowd. "Anyhow, let me be honest with you. The job I do, it's not just a job. I'm a writer because I love writing. You don't stop being a writer when you go home at night. You can't switch it off. It's there. Always. You give me an assignment, I will do it. Not reluctantly. I'll do it and I'll give it a hundred percent. Because either you do something or you don't. There are no halfway inbetweens."

During her little speech she had been staring at her vis-a-vis like she wanted to hypnotize him; now she averted her gaze and lowered it to the carpeted floor, fearing she had said too much. It was possible that he mistook her as a crazy chick, some hard-liner. In reality she was just determined. And a little driven.

Well, if he did think she was crazy, he never let any of it show. He rose from his chair, adjusting his neat, dark-blue business suit. Holding out his hand to her, he said the following words: "Thank you, Miss Stewart, you'll be hearing from us."

As she was ushered out of his office and passed a line of waiting candidates whose eyes followed her as she walked down the corridor, she couldn't help but fear she had messed up her job interview. Little did she know that precisely because of what she had said, she would join the creative staff of the WWE at Stamford in only a couple of weeks.

* * *

"And that's your office. You'll be sharing it with two other people, Luke Parker and Maria Menuzzi," the middle-aged woman, whose name tag read Margaret Newton, announce. She stumbled a bit over the difficult pronunciation of that Italian surname. Her smiles were a little too bright. Her neatly pressed business outfit, consisting of a pencil skirt, a tailored jacket and a blouse, intimidated Nina a bit. On her first day at work, unsure of what office policy was about work clothing, she had opted for a business outfit as well. She was wearing some dark slacks, a white pinstripe blouse and ballerinas. The whole ensemble added to her discomfort because it felt like a disguise. This was not her, not at all. But since this was her first day at work, she was willing to compromise.

"Where are they?" she enquired.

"Lunch break. We get 45 minutes by the way," Margaret informed her cheerfully, about to turn around and walk off. Since she worked in human resources, she probably had places to be, other people to lead around, paperwork to file...

"Erm," Nina started. "I'm sorry to keep you, but can I ask you a couple of questions, please?" she looked at the other woman imploringly, tugging at the too tight collar of her blouse.

"Sure," one more of those bright, fake smiles, "That's what I'm here for."

"Alright," Nina tried to smile herself. It turned out a little terse though, so she gave up pretending. Her smile disappeared altogether. Her eyes flitted from the high windows of the office, over the Extreme Rules and Wrestlemania posters on the walls, to the tables of her future, for now faceless, co-workers. On one of those desks there were various little gizmos like bobblehead figures and tiny spaceships. "So we are allowed to decorate our workspace with personal objects to make us feel more at home?"

Margaret gave her a curt nod. "Anything else you wanted to know?"

"What about dress code. Is there one?" Nina wanted to know.

"Casual clothing is allowed as long as you don't dress like you're about to head to the gym, the beach or to a nightclub," Margaret informed her with a smile. Apparently that was her version of wittiness.

Nina secretly breathed sigh of relief. This was her only blouse. She had last worn it at Cousin Elise's wedding. It would have been such a bother if she had had to wash and iron it every day or worse yet, get more of those annoying clothing articles.

"Thank you very much, Mrs Newton. I appreciate it," she said. Apparently keen to get away from her, the other woman left her standing there and walked away, but not without flashing her another one of those smiles. The scent of her expensive and a bit too flowery perfume lingered in the air for a while, even minutes after she had left.

Nina closed the door to the office behind her and stepped closer to her desk. She placed her bag on the table surface, clawing her fingers into the backrest of her chair. Now that she could allow the tension to fall off of her, she no longer suppressed a relieved exhale. On the same note she immediately started tugging at her blouse, opening its first three buttons and rolling up its sleeves to her elbows. A knock at the door let her jump. It swung open and revealed two people, probably the aforementioned Luke and Maria.

Luke gave her a weak smile. He was tall and lanky. A mob of blonde hair sat on his head. He wore glasses and some witty T-shirt that said something about Schroedinger's Cat. Maria looked odd standing next to Luke, because she was about one foot smaller. She had something about her that made Nina like her straight away. Maybe it was that mischievous glint in her eyes or her exuberance that didn't make her hesitate to grab Nina's hand and shake it while she instantly started to chat away. "I'm Maria, that's Luke," her voice was ever so slightly accented, but Nina found that endearing. "You must be Nina. We're so excited to meet you." Having said that last sentence, she flipped her neatly coiffed long black hair over her shoulder. For a second, but only a second, Nina was overwhelmed by envy and regretted having had her own hair chopped off on the spontaneous whim of looking like the woman from 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo'.

"Hey," Luke nodded at her, shoving his hands into his pockets, not looking half as excited as Maria had made him out to be. Nina smirked.

"Hey, nice to meet you. I like your office. I hope you don't mind me invading your territory," she said trying her best to master an art she sucked at: small talk.

"Totally fine," Maria beamed. "Depends," Luke said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"On what?" Nina couldn't help but ask almost out of reflex.

"Here we go again...," Maria sighed.

Luke paid her no heed and seized Nina up with his eyes instead. "Classic Star Trek or TNG?"

"What? Why do you want to know?"

Instead of Luke, Maria decided to clear up the confusion. "It's this thing he does with every newbie he meets. Just be quick about it and answer his questions, okay?" she stage-whispered to a slightly fidgety and worried Nina.

"Do I have to choose?" Nina replied, unsure of what he wanted her to say.

He snorted. "It's a good start you didn't ask what TNG is. And yes, you have to choose."

She sighed. "Okay. TNG."

"Superman or Batman?"

"Seriously?" Nina shook her head with a smile. "Batman. Hands down."

Luke fired his question at a more rapid interval now.

"Connery or Craig?"

"Connery."

"Marvel or DC?"

"Marvel."

"Star Wars or Doctor Who?"

She paused, then shook her head, at first hesitantly then more determinedly. Maria watched their exchange with unmasked amusement. "I'm sorry, Luke, but I won't answer that. Seems like a touchy subject now. Haven't you heard about those fan clubs beating each other up?"

Luke was looking at her with his eyes wide and his mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "This isn't Candid Camera, is it?" He looked at her in total disbelief. Nina shook her head. He grinned at her - this time with added enthusiasm. "She may stay," he proclaimed.

"As always I haven't understood anything you've been talking about, but that's okay," Maria told Luke, touching his shoulder in a patronizing, yet teasing 'there, there' gesture one would only dare to make after having spent an eternity working together with someone.

"Soooo," Nina stretched out the vowel of that little word to buy herself some time, "who are you writing for?"

"Me?" Maria indicated herself "Mainly Santino, Del Rio and Rey Mysterio. Seeing as I speak both Spanish and Italian, I'm the only one who can argue with those handsome fellows in the languages of their mamas if they decide they want to channel their inner drama queens again."

Nina let out a soft chuckle at Maria's words, then threw Luke a pointed look, curious to know who he had been assigned to. "Rhodes Scholars," he stated reluctantly, rolling his eyes, "And Team Hell No, don't ask."

"Hey, you'll hear no complaints from me. Those are great teams, at least from what I've heard," she tried to placate him. Apparently it worked because he smirked before he launched the inevitable question at her.

"You?"

"Sheamus and Wade Barrett," Nina told them.

"Sheamus!?" Maria's voice sounded somewhat shrill in her disbelief. Luke just stared at her blankly like she had just wetted her pants in front of them.

"Is that bad?" Nina asked in her naivety.

"Hmm? No, no, bad is such an extreme word," Maria tried to downplay her reaction, while Luke nodded emphatically.

"So if it's not bad, what is it?" Nina enquired further, not being able to shake a feeling of dark foreboding.

"Maria, I think it would be only fair to tell her before we head off to the group bow-wow or else it's going to be like total carnage when she meets him. Like entrails flying all over the place. Splat! Splat!" Luke deemed it necessary to dramatize his words with sound effects and emphatic gestures.

"Meet who?" Nina's eyes had grown large at Luke's words.

"You don't know? Mike? The guy whose job you've stolen from under his ass?!"

"Wait a second! I haven't stolen someone's job, have I?" She looked at her two colleagues expectantly. Their facial expressions said it all. They displayed a mixture of discomfort and pity. Apparently that Mike fellow was one scary guy.

* * *

"I'm not going to throw up," was Nina's new mantra she kept whispering to herself while she trotted after Maria and Luke reluctantly. They had dissuaded her from her original idea of heading over to Mike's office and clearing things up with an apology and a heartfelt talk. "This is such a bad, very bad, stupid idea," she muttered to herself as she rounded the last corner that separated her from the conference room into which most of the writing staff were filing for the first of their twice weekly meetings.

Maria and Luke had informed her that it was there, among that elite group of roughly 20 people, that storylines were created. So in a couple of minutes she would meet the people who would shape her day to day routine from now on and the guy who would hate her guts on first sight. On a normal day the promise of making new acquaintances would have left her thrilled, but today she only felt dread. Best she kept a low profile in there.

Nina scurried through the door and took a seat next to Luke and Maria. She sporadically raised her eyes to briefly scan the room. Writers were a rather eclectic and eccentric crowd. While some proclaimed their affiliations by wearing their respective charges' t-shirts, others sported quirky clothing and grooming styles, ranging from hipster to the more subdued and company-suitable versions of Goth and flower child.

Unsurprisingly women were a minority in that particular branch of industry. Just imagine a gap-toothed little girl with ribbons in her hair telling her daddy: "I wanna grow up to be a writer for the WWE and make up stories for a big, ugly wrestler." Despite her current predicament, Nina had to smile at the thought as she got out her smart-phone, a pen and a notepad to prepare for the meeting.

The place at the head of the table had remained empty until now. She half-expected Vince McMahon to breeze in, except that he didn't. In her surprise she whispered an inquiry to Luke who informed her that the top honcho only came in for those meetings when something big was looming on the horizon like PPV or Wrestlemania. Instead of Mr McMahon, a middle aged, white-haired man in chinos and a polo shirt sauntered through the door a couple of minutes later and closed it behind himself. Any latecomers would find themselves in a predicament now, having to sneak in under the eyes of the entire writing team.

The meeting took off. The white-haired guy, called Richard Dickson, as Maria whispered to her as a quick explanation, brought order to a procedure that would otherwise have been chaotic. Dickson called up a few names, the names of the wrestlers involved in next week's storyline; and the respective writers then proceeded to present their ideas to the group. If those ideas met with general approval, there was a quick nod from Dickson, if not they were tweaked and prodded with by the entire team until they were good enough to be accepted.

Suddenly she heard the names "Sheamus and Randy Orton" being called. Like a bolt of electricity excitement shot through her system. She was all at once wide awake and bubbly with energy. Since no one had acknowledged her presence yet, she raised her hand. "Ah, the new girl," Dickson nodded at her with a professional smile. "How much do you know about the storyline?"

She cleared her throat. "Sheamus and Randy Orton have come to establish an alliance against the Shield. Sheamus still isn't much of a fan of Big Show, especially since Hell in a Cell..."

"Good girl! You've done your homework," Dickson nodded. "As you said, Sheamus and Orton are currently being threatened by the Shield..." At that a groan of exasperation and some whispered sarcastic jokes went through the crowd. "Yeah, I know, apart from their writer Dom over here," a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a chiseled chin waved to the others benignly at the mention of his name, "...nobody's that keen on the Shield right now. Regardless of that, how are we gonna help the boys out? Any ideas for Orton, Mike?"

Nina's eyes widened as a very handsome dark haired man with an olive complexion spoke up from his seat somewhere left of Dickson. "I think we have to build up that friendship between Randy and Sheamus further. For Wrestlemania in a couple of weeks I'm thinking three men tag team match against the Shield."

"Sounds good. Who's the third man, Mike?"

"Ryback," Mike shot back, fixing her with a cool and rather challenging gaze across the room. It was almost as if he was daring her to say something. Nina gulped. Unfortunately there was actually something she wanted to say.

"How about we have Ryback back out at the very last moment and have them team up with someone else. Haven't we agreed that we wanted to build up Ryback as a monster just ten minutes ago? Sorry, Mike, I think the tag team idea is excellent, just not with him," she finished on a more diplomatic note and flashed the other writer an apologetic smile.

He waved her off with a hand gesture. While his posture appeared to be relaxed, there was something tense about the way his jaw was set. "And who do you want to bring in?"

She smiled. "The Big Show." A murmur went through the room. Her proposal was met by nods of approval and headshakes equally. "Hold up! Hold up! Of course he's going to back-stab them in the end..."

There was moment of silence. All eyes turned to Dickson, awaiting his verdict. "I like it. Sounds very Greek tragedy to me. Classy. Mike, Nina, get together and work out the details."

Nina groaned inwardly. Seriously? The guy already looked like he wished he could shoot red lasers from his eyes and kill her with them. Why give him more ammunition by exposing herself to his company for an indeterminate period of time?

"And Nina?" her head snapped up again as Dickson's voice called her back to the present. "Meet up with me immediately after this here is over, I've got a treat for you."

She nodded mechanically and just like that she was off the hook again for the time being. Thanks to her nervousness from before she was parched, so she reached for the empty glass in front of her on the table and poured herself some water. She emptied it in one go and then refocused on the meeting. Nina had to speak up again when Wade Barrett's name came up, but this time around things went more smoothly, probably because her writer counterpart seemed to be a relaxed sort of guy.

By the time the meeting was slowly closing down, she had emptied another glass of water and a familiar pressure was starting to build up in her bladder. Silently she exited the room and crept towards the restrooms opposite of the conference room. As she was anxious not to miss the end of the meeting, she kept looking over her shoulder all the time and more or less stumbled through one of those doors, because she was not paying attention where she was going. She closed her eyes for a second, annoyed with herself and her clumsiness, praying that this was the ladies'. Promptly, upon turning around, she collided with a very muscular and distinctly not female chest. She could tell with so much certainty because her nose briefly dug into said chest, precisely at the height of the other person's sternum before she bounced back. She would have fallen, had it not been for a pair of hands which momentarily steadied her, just long enough for her to regain her balance.

"Ow!" she protested and automatically covered her nose to protect it from further onslaught. Her eyes wandered up those pectoral muscles covered in a shirt and vest. She dimly registered that an amused male voice was giving her a scolding for her impulsiveness. "Now watch where you're going. You've almost speared me there." Nina had always been one to be quick on the uptake, so before her eyes actually connected with the stranger's face, she was able to tell who she had collided with. That thick Irish accent was a dead-give-away.

"Fuck!" She swore. A pair of surprised blue eyes settled on her and she saw dimples, a red beard and pale skin. A cap covered his red hair, but there was no doubt it was him. Her eyes finally fell on that face she had familiarized herself with in the last couple of weeks. It had smiled at her from the covers of all those magazines she had leafed through, reading countless articles about him and his wrestling career. Panic took a hold of her and she hurried to amend her mistake. A second f-bomb lay already waiting on the tip of her tongue, so what she actually said sounded a bit like that: "Fu... Sorry. I could try to pull off total confidence now and say that you're wrong here and this is the ladies', but that's not true, huh?"

The Irishman shook his head and chuckled at her antics.

"Maybe my colleague Luke was right before. This is has got to be Candid Camera. Hello? You can all come out now!" she called out into the seemingly, apart from them, empty restroom, trying to turn the awkwardness of the situation into a funny moment.

Quite inevitably a "hello" echoed back from the stalls which grew more and more enquiring. "Fuck!" she swore again and immediately covered her mouth with her hands after, completely embarrassed with herself and her behavior. Right now the only way for her to keep face consisted in resigning herself to blushing and slowly backing out of the room. She chose to do a mixture of both. "Are you sure you're not concussed? I hear it affects short term memory sometimes, which, let's face it, would be a good thing right now," she said hopefully, briefly taking her hands away from her mouth.

"No," he shook his head and smiled, "you just hit me chest. And that not very hard."

"Damn! I was counting on that temporary memory loss..." She joked, searching desperately for the door handle behind her back.

"That bad?" he laughed. "Come on. Relax. It's not that big a deal. I'm Stephen, by the way. And what's your name?" he held out his hand to her still smiling.

"You have no idea. It actually is." Her comically widened eyes took in his outstretched hand and then they settled back on his face. The countless times she had imagined this moment in her head, it certainly hadn't looked anything like this. "Nice to meet you," she said finally and grinned a little too brightly. His hand remained outstretched between them. She reckoned that once she did take it, would make it official that this was their first meeting, so she didn't even make a move. "And sorry, but I'm not going to tell you my name... Yet. This is so not a place for first meetings."

He shot her a funny look and let his hand sink down. The smile from before was fading. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose while he regarded her with a look that said he was torn between finding her behavior strangely endearing and considering calling security. "Don't you sometimes wish you could pull off one of those Jedi mind tricks? Man, I know I do right now," and with those words she scrambled out of the door and flung herself into the ladies' room as if it were her last escape from a red dragon and not a red-haired Irish wrestler.

Unbeknownst to her, she left behind a very surprised, but smiling Irishman in the men's room. Nina, on the other hand, was busy trying not to die of embarrassment. She leaned against the closed door behind her and let out a long and shuddering exhale. Well, that had gone well! She turned her head and looked at her reflection in the mirrors to her left. Her face was flushed. She stepped closer and took inventory. Normally of fair complexion, her face was now beet-red. Even the tips of her ears seemed to be glowing. She growled softly and grimaced before she stalked off to the stalls with a curse on her lips.


	2. Lobster Meets Peking Duck

She was still cursing when she exited the restroom minutes later and headed back to the already emptying conference room. Before she could enter, Mike stepped in her way. Not wanting to add another embarrassing scene to the growing list of those that had already occurred today, she cleaned up her act and tried for a friendly smile.

"Listen, Mike, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am...," she started.

"Cut it," he told her.

"I really am. You might not want to hear it right now, but..."

"Oh, please spare me!" The words were not said with viciousness, but rather with a great deal of annoyance. "You wanted the job. You got it. Now stop making excuses about it. That's so annoying."

"Fine," with that single word all her enthusiasm and her determination to make this right went flying out of the window. "Dickson wants us to work on the storyline," she stated matter-of-factly.

"We don't have to meet up in person for that," he told her and she tried not to be affronted by that.

"Okay, if that's how you want to do it..." she supplied, her voice carrying a mixture of disappointment and resignation. She reached into the pocket of her trousers, produced her business card and held it out to him. "Let's get in touch later today then."

He took the card from her fingers and was off. She watched him go with a strange expression on her face, unsure whether she should file away their interaction under total disaster or a minor catastrophe.

"Nina!" Dickson called her from inside the room, leaving her no time to mull over the precarious situation. She could already see Stephen standing next to him. The Irishman was smiling a cheeky smirk at her through the see-through window pane of the conference room.

"There you are," Dickson commented upon her arrival. "Stephen, meet the young lady who will from now on supply your alter ego Sheamus with witty comebacks and interesting story-lines."

"Hi, I'm Nina, Mr Farrelly," she told him. She held out her hand to him, leaving the decision up to him of whether he wanted to go back on his offer of calling him by his first name.

After a brief moment of hesitation he took her hand and shook it. "It's still okay to call me Stephen," he told her, no longer smiling. Perhaps she had left a worse first impression than she thought.

"Still? You've met before?" Dickson was regrettably fast on the uptake. Gosh, she so didn't want to explain that to him! "Yes, we have, but only briefly," she said quickly, lowering her head.

Her answer was noncommittal and didn't give anything away, but Stephen seemed to be determined not to let her get off the hook that easily. "Yeah, we sort of bumped into each other earlier."

His remark let the faintest of blushes appear on her cheeks, but apart from that her facade remained all businesslike.

"No offense, Richard, but whatever happened to Mike?" Stephen inquired now focusing his attention on Dickson again. His question was not at all uncalled for, nevertheless it made her feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"Nothing. Mike's great. One of the best writers we've got, but look at the guys he usually supplies with lines: Orton, Lesnar, Ryback... He can cook up a mean storyline. He brings the action... But I think what we need for Sheamus is a little more than that. Nina here might actually get the job done. She comes with the best credentials and I was quite impressed with her pitch today. Why don't you give her a chance and see if you like her material?"

Talk about discomfort, Nina felt even more put on the spot now. She didn't know how to handle praise. And let's face it, what Dickson had just dished out had been praise of the highest variety. Nevertheless his intention of selling a product to his client, namely her, was painfully obvious. To make matters worse, both men were currently staring at her.

"Right," she broke the uncomfortable silence, "thank you, Mr Dickson. May I say something too?"

The men nodded at her encouragingly and muttered phrases like "Go ahead!" and "Of course you can."

"I'm sorry about Mike. I really am," she addressed Stephen directly there, meeting his gaze without flinching. "When I came here, I didn't plan to replace him. In all honesty I was sure I screwed up my interview because of my inability to keep my big mouth shut." She paused not sure how to continue from there. He was still regarding her expectantly.

"So here's what you can expect of me: I blurt out anything that goes through my head, I'm driven, I do things properly and not in half-assed way, I'm honest and I have a sense of humour. Let's face it, anyone with my amount of klutziness would have to have a decent sense of humour..."

She paused again and looked at the two men questioningly. "Is that enough?"

Dickson grinned at her forwardness. "Don't ask me. Ask the big guy here." He pointed over his shoulder at a pensive looking Stephen.

A pensive looking Stephen who said nothing and regarded her silently. "Okay, I'll give it a go," he said after a while and by the time the words left his mouth, she almost wanted to hug him because she was so relieved.

"Does that mean we can go back to the initial plan? Can I leave you two crazy kids alone, so you can get to know each other better?" Dickson asked with a satisfied grin, already moving towards the door.

Nina was bit overwhelmed right now. A little too much had happened in a too short period of time, nevertheless she nodded mechanically. She could hear Stephen say something like "Yeah, fine, mate," besides her. Then, quite to her surprise, she found herself alone inside a conference room that bore an eery resemblance to a large glass cage with a roughly six-foot-tall wrestler.

"Let's sit down," she said because she couldn't think of anything better to say. They both did. She noticed how the chair seemed kind of small for him. He really was a big guy.

"So how long do you have?" Nina asked trying to break the silence that was threatening to settle upon them.

"About 30 minutes," he replied, after having checked his wristwatch.

She nodded. "I wish we could go somewhere else for this. This room makes me feel like I'm some kind of lab-rat." She crinkled her nose while making that statement. "It's a lovely room. But sort of clinical..."

"Yeah, I get what you mean," he said, despite the fact that he didn't look too uncomfortable, as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. The gesture made the muscles in his upper arm appear even more pronounced. With his stature it had to be tough picking out clothes. Promptly she made that comment and immediately after wished she didn't have such a huge blabbermouth.

Luckily he didn't seem to be offended by her remark. As a matter of fact his smirk told her that he was quite amused by it. "You have no idea. I spend hours crying in front of me wardrobe."

There was a mischievous glint in his eye that let her hope that once they would have gotten over their little Mike problem they would get along quite well.

A wide selection of retorts popped up in her head: "And here I thought wrestlers were quite the masculine bunch", "'Cause apart from the outfit you're wearing right now there are only those little wrestling trunks inside your wardrobe?", "I had no idea you were that sensitive"... She bit her tongue instead, taking a bit longer with the response than she normally would have. It was too early in their acquaintance to be making any of those comments. She opted for a tame "I can relate" instead.

A pause again. Awkwardness would get them nowhere. She decided to take charge. "So ten minutes for me. Twenty for you?"

"Me ego isn't that big. How 'bout 15/15? That should work out nicely," he suggested.

"Alright," she conceded. "Shoot!"

"How much do you know about me?" he swiveled around in his chair, now facing her.

She shrugged. "I've done my homework. You can ask me something if you like."

"What's the name of the fella I had my debut match against?"

"WWE or before?"

"Humor me?" he said with a lopsided grin.

"Bryan Kelly with WWE and back with the Monster Factory it was Robert Pigeon."

He whistled through his teeth, clearly impressed. "So you already know all that stuff," he summarized. "Perhaps we should fall back on that 20/10 idea, except that I'll use those 20 minutes to drill you with questions...," he checked his wristwatch, "make that 18 minutes."

"Nice try, funny guy," she smirked and noticed with a certain satisfaction that he hadn't taken offense at her far too personal form of address. After how they had met, it simply didn't seem appropriate to stick to the unwritten protocol of how to go about getting to know someone. "But no, I'd rather stick with the initial plan," she continued. "What I'm interested in is stuff like preferences and dislikes. If I don't know anything about those things, I might end up cooking up a storyline you're not comfortable with."

"What do you think I wouldn't be comfortable with?" He was doing this on purpose - asking her questions that would put her on the spot.

She arched an eyebrow. "I don't think you're keen on playing the stereotypical drunk Irishman or dressing up as a leprechaun every night. And what about a nice spray tan, huh?" With the last question she was leaning herself pretty far out of the window, but their conversation was supposed to help her get to know him better and she had a limited time frame at her disposal.

While he had calmly taken in her first two questions, the last one made him smirk and stroke his beard. "Cute, very clever."

"I figured those mayonnaise jokes are getting pretty lame by now, so I wanted to try something new for a change."

"Cause you sympathize? Are you hearing a lot of those jokes yourself?" he inquired with a devilish grin.

She smiled. "Sometimes... I'm like a vampire. I don't get a tan or a sunburn. No use fighting it. A couple of years ago I was so desperate to get a tan, I used self-tanning lotion. I looked like a Peking Duck afterward. Just less delicious."

"Well, I reckon I drew the short straw. I start looking like a lobster after 20 minutes under direct sunlight."

"Well, if it's any consolation, lobsters are way more classy than Peking Ducks," she told him, smiling good-naturedly.

He smiled at her remark.

Her eyes were fixed on him as they spoke. They focused on his facial features, scrutinizing them closely. She had seen pictures and tapes of him, but seeing someone face to face was a lot different than staring at a screen. Now that she was talking to him, he seemed more and more like a real person and less like some cardboard cutout wrestler.

He had an intimidating physique, but five minutes into their conversation that wasn't what struck her most about him anymore. He was lively, talkative, outgoing, had a decent sense of humor, all of which he communicated with his words and his body language. On top of that he was fairly easy to read. His eyes sparkled when he was amused, they narrowed when he disapproved of something. Talk about eyes, something occurred to her while she was staring at his face. His beard and his eyebrows were the same color, but his lashes were almost white.

"They make you dye your hair for the show, right?" she blurted out, which was an odd interjection considering they had just been talking about Europe and how she had attended London University for a year.

Stephen shot her a perplexed look, blinking at her a couple of times before he decided to answer her question. "A bit random, but yeah. I'd say that's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, but the beard and eyebrows too? That must suck..," she remarked.

"Well, it does. But I'm not complaining," he shrugged. "That isn't your natural hair color either, right? So you know it's not a big deal," he indicated her pixie haircut that was blonde and longer on top while the sides were closely shaved and therefore displayed her natural dark brownish color.

"What's your natural color?" she insisted.

He shook his head and hit his flat hands on the table for emphasize. "Not gonna tell you, lass. A man's gotta have his secrets."

"Come on, I'm just asking because we could slowly go back to the original color. Wouldn't that be something? That way you wouldn't have to go through all that trouble every other week..."

"I don't think so." He held up his index finger. "One word: trademark."

"Hmmm," she made a sound of disappointment. "Is that why you're wearing the cap, because otherwise you'd get too easily recognized?"

He laid his index finger on the tip of his nose while he pointed at her with the other.

"Somehow I think your theory is flawed though. The fact that you're 6 foot tall and muscular like hell is not that inconspicuous," she joked, while she gave him a sweet smile.

"Oi!" Nina recognized fake indignation when it stared her right in the face like that. The fact that he muttered something about not having been able to do his hair properly this morning added to that impression.

Amidst his muttered words of protest, his cellphone made a chirping noise. Inevitably two pairs of eyes were drawn to the display. They had already exceeded their time by five minutes. Apparently he realized that as well because he cursed softly under his breath, already getting up from the chair with a slight groan.

She shot him a perplexed look which he took as an invitation to explain. "Paul accidentally hit me in the back during training yesterday. Happens."

"So it's not all fake then...," she concluded standing up as well.

He looked at her inclining his head a little to the side. "I'd explain, but that would take way longer than we've got. You've never been to a show, have you?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Then you should come tomorrow. It's just an one-hour-drive from here and you could meet Stu as well," he suggested, already walking towards the door.

"Stu as in Stuart Alexander Bennett?" she asked.

"You really are quite the overachiever, aren't ya?" he observed with a smirk.

"Yeah, and aren't you lucky to have me on your team?"

"Well, I hope I am," he said noncommittally. "So see you tomorrow at the show then?"

"Yes, but wait a sec," she walked up to him. "Take my card, so you can get in touch with me in case we need to talk." 'Need to talk' was code for 'in case you need to complain about something to me' and they both knew it.

"QR code on the back. Neat!" He grinned as he inspected the card and turned it over.

"Yeah, it creates an entry with all my contact information in your address book once you scan it," she explained. "Or you can just type it in like regular people," she shrugged.

He pocketed her business card, letting it disappear in his vest. "Alright, I'm off then," he pointed over his shoulder. "Go to the back entrance tomorrow and tell them your name's on the list. That should get you backstage."

"Okay, thanks. Bye then." They shook hands again and with that he was off.

* * *

On the walk back to her office she went over what had happened in the last hours. It was all a big jumble in her head. How had the day started off again? Right, with her turning her wardrobe upside down in search of that one single blouse she owned, then she had noticed she had run out of milk, later embarrassed herself in front of one of the WWE's superstars, met with one angry coworker that hated her, heard her boss sing her praise and finally gotten to know the aforementioned superstar a little better. That already sounded exhausting in her head. Exhausting and slightly surreal.

Nina opened the door to the office she shared with Maria and Luke. Both literally dropped whatever they were doing as soon as she had stepped inside.

"So how did your talk with Sheamus go, huh?" Maria wiggled her eyebrows, obviously taking note of her slightly dazed facial expression.

"You look totally out of it. Like someone hit you over the head. Has someone hit you over the head?" Luke asked swiveling around in his chair, his fingers steepled in a perfect Doctor No pose.

"No, I'm fine. It went fine," she reassured them as she sank down in her chair, feeling drained. It was a nice chair, she noticed, very comfortable. Because she was someone who was easily distracted by minor details, she spun around in it once, then nodded in satisfaction. Not only comfortable, but functional.

"You keep saying the word 'fine' a lot," Maria pointed out shrewdly. Her comment steered Nina's thoughts away from comfortable swivel chairs to the matter at hand.

"Well, meeting Mike wasn't fine. Is he always in such a bad mood?" Nina said, switching on her computer. Speaking of Mike, she needed to see whether he had already sent her an email.

Luke inclined his head pensively, giving her question some thought, while Maria tried to remain relatively neutral. "He's not really known for his good sense of humor."

"No, he isn't," Luke agreed, taking a sip from the Batman cup that was standing on the desktop next to him. "He usually writes for the serious and slightly grumpy type, just like himself. Maybe he's pissed you took away Sheamus from him because it was his one chance at something remotely resembling lightheartedness. Well, as lighthearted as writing for someone called 'The Celtic Warrior'", he air quoted that particular title, "can get."

"I'm thinking you might be onto something there." Nina's tongue poked out through her lips as she concentrated on typing in her password to the company's server. It was a long sequence of numbers and letters.

The first thing she did was open up her emails, only to find that there wasn't a word from Mike. She checked the time on the sidebar of the computer desktop. She had three hours until the deadline was up.

"Any ideas how I can reach Mike? Email's not fast enough," Nina asked into the room.

Instead of a verbal response, suddenly a window popped up on her screen with a message.

LukeWWE: We've got in-house messaging.

NinaWWE: Thanks for the heads up.

After having typed those words, she threw Luke a smirk over the edge of her computer screen which he reciprocated by flashing her a Joker-like grin, barring his teeth at her.

Maria just shook her head and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "nerds" under her breath.

NinaWWE: She's just jealous we're so cool. ;-)

LukeWWE: That's got to be it. :-)

With a grin on her face she minimized her conversation with Luke and started typing a message to Mike.

NinaWWE: So when are we going to work on the storyline for Orton and Sheamus?

The question sat there on the screen for a while before it received an answer.

MikeWWE: Not gonna happen. I've got more important things to do right now. The boss says you can do it on your own.

Nina's eyes widened in disbelief. Write the whole thing on her own in only three hours? That was close to impossible. She wasn't familiar with Randy Orton. Nina had no clue who he was and what he talked like. She ran her hand through her hair before she began typing away furiously at the keyboard.

NinaWWE: The boss says I'm supposed to do it? When did he say that? You're only telling me now?

MikeWWE: After the meeting. I'm on the Ryback/Cena storyline right now. Kinda trumps Orton/Sheamus, wouldn't you say?

Nina let out a string of curses that made her coworkers look up from their current tasks. "Mamma mia," Maria commented. While Luke just whistled through his teeth.

Nina WWE: Don't bother. I'll take care of it.

Her index finger pressed down on the mouse with a bit more force than necessary as she closed the window.

"The deadline's over tonight at 8, right?" she carefully inquired. "Can we get any extra time if we can't make it?"

Maria pushed back from her desk, looking at her with a sympathetic expression on her face. "Mike has screwed you over, right?"

"Yeah," Nina admitted with a sigh.

"In extreme cases we get till 8 in the morning of the following day," Maria told her opening the top drawer of her desk from which she produced a chocolate bar. She took it in her hands for a moment, looking down at it pensively before she tossed it over to Nina. "Here, you're going to need this," she smiled at her encouragingly.

Nina caught the flying chocolate missile, aimed in her direction with a smile. "Thank you, but why are you being so nice to me?"

At that Maria grinned. "I'm not being nice. The chocolate is going to make your culo bigger and not mine."

"Does 'culo' mean what I think it does?" Nina quirked an eyebrow.

Maria chuckled. "You can bet your sweet culo on it, girl."

Nina laughed. The tiniest smidgen of hope blossomed up inside of her. Perhaps she would be able to do this after all and manage to have everything ready by 8 in the morning.

"By the way the coffee machine is in the break-room. Down the floor, second door on the right. Take the white cups, they don't belong to anybody," Luke informed her.

Nina nodded and went to work. Several hours and cups of coffee later, around the time everyone else was closing shop, Nina had a vague idea about how to write Randy Orton. She had watched as much video material on him as possible and read up on him online.

She was so engrossed in her work she almost jumped out of her seat when Maria laid a hand on her shoulder. "Time to go home," she told her.

"Just a few more minutes," Nina tried to negotiate.

"Suit yourself, but you're going to end up locked up in here if you don't leave before 8," Maria admonished.

"Okay," Nina grabbed her cellphone. "I'm setting up an alarm."

"Brava!" Maria nodded in satisfaction. "See you tomorrow then!"

Nina just made a humming noise to acknowledge her words, already concentrating on her work again, so she didn't even hear Luke's nonchalant 'goodbye'. When she looked up from her screen again several moments later, she briefly wondered where he had disappeared off to.

The moment of truth came when she opened up her writing program. The little black bar was pulsing rhythmically on the white screen. She was so jittery from the coffee and chocolate she had ingested that she had trouble forming a single coherent thought. Nevertheless she kept staring at the screen like she was trying to stare down a foe on the battlefield.

Suddenly her cellphone let out a shrill peep and she jumped in her seat. She reached for it quickly. That wasn't the alarm. It had been the message tone and quite predictably there was a text waiting for her. Stephen? For a moment she actually went through her mental address book before it occurred to her that she had given her phone number to none other than Stephen Farrelly this afternoon.

Her eyes flitted over the screen. The message was simple and had a rather practical purpose. "Now you have my number as well," it said.

"Thanks," she typed back and after a moment of hesitation she added: "Looking forward to tomorrow's show." Nina narrowed her eyes critically at the screen. Instead of pressing 'send' straight away, she first erased the last words again. It just didn't seem professional enough.

His answer came promptly. "You're welcome. And you'd better be wearing a Sheamus T-shirt to the show tomorrow..."

She smiled. "Seems kind of unfair to Stuart," she quickly wrote.

"He'll live. ;-)"

"Yeah, but maybe I won't live to see tomorrow night," she muttered to herself and put her cellphone back in her bag.


	3. Make Stuart Laugh

**Author's note:**_ Thank you for reviewing, favouriting and following the story. I hope you'll enjoy the next part as well... Let me know._

* * *

Shortly after her alarm went off. She saved whatever progress she had made on her USB stick and packed her bag.

On her walk towards the exit she discovered that the building was deserted by now. She passed security on the way out, enquiring whether it would be possible at all to stay at the office late. The answer she got was encouraging.

"Simple as that, let us know if and when you plan to work late and we won't lock you in."

Nina made her way over to her red Mini Cooper that she had parked at the edge of the huge parking lot and drove home. Home was a little apartment in the city centre of Stamford.

As was to be expected, the little red light on her telephone was rhythmically pulsing. She got the USB stick and her cellphone out of her bag before she threw it in a corner. Nina hit a button on the phone and it started playing the missed messages.

"Hi, honey," the voice of her mother cooed through the speakers. Nina, on the way to the kitchen to get a snack and something to drink, rolled her eyes. "How was your first day at work? Everything okay? What are your colleagues like? What about your office?" In the background she heard her father mutter something that sounded like: "Give her a break. She's probably tired." Her mother, clearly disapproving, replied: "Yeah, sure faking disinterest is such a clever idea. That way she's never going call us. You don't seem to be interested in..." Bleep! "End of message!" A robotic sounding female voice announced.

Nina grinned while she was fixing herself a sandwich. "Next message received at 8:15." Her mother again. "Aren't you home yet, honey? Busy first day? Anyway your brother called and wanted to know whether you would come to see us this weekend, so here I was wondering if..." Bleep! "End of message!"

She smiled as she took her first bite from her sandwich and headed over to her working space, a can of soda in her hand. The laptop hummed into life when she pressed the power switch and she mentally prepared herself for a couple of more hours of work. Before she could get to work again however, she would have to give her Mum a call.

* * *

It was like a weird experiment. A really weird one. She reckoned people working for companies that sold caffeinated beverages would be delighted to get her hands on her because that way they could find out how long someone could survive on just four hours of sleep, luxurious amounts of coffee, energy drinks and junk food. How she had even managed to come here after the rough two days she'd been through was beyond her. But here she was.

She felt a bit like fraud when she walked up to the security guy and told him: "Hello, my name's Nina Stewart. I should be on the guest list." Though his eyes were flitting over the list of names under his nose, she expected him to look up at her any minute now, shake his head and tell her that she wasn't on it. But nothing of that sort happened. Her lucky streak continued. Just like this morning when she had handed in her script and Mr Dickson had patted her on the shoulder with a satisfied smirk once he had skimmed those pages. Now, instead of a pat on the shoulder, she was rewarded with a backstage pass which read all areas and hung around her neck like a medal.

She inspected it more closely as she walked through the backstage entry. Behind the door a strange world opened up to her. The laminated card slipped through her fingers and dangled forgotten on its chain.

One thing was for sure, the only place she'd ever seen that many people walk around in that little clothes was the beach. Actually it looked like she had stumbled into the male section of that beach. Around all that testosterone and muscle it was hard not to feel out of place.

Of course there was staff too. They wore street clothes, because the alternative would have been ridiculous. Thanks to those street clothes they sort of faded into the background, but there was no doubt they ran that place. She saw people with clipboards, people whispering orders into headsets, people running down corridors. Nina's pulse sped up as she took in the level of activity backstage.

She tried to find an individual that didn't look quite as fidgety as the others and politely asked where she could find Mr Stephen Farrelly. The young man just gave her a curious look like he knew who she was talking about but wasn't quite sure whether he had understood correctly. She amended her mistake. "Sorry, I meant to say Sheamus," she supplied.

That seemed to do the trick. "Down the corridor, take a left, then a right. First door." She nodded and started walking. People brushed past her, someone shouted something down the corridor. A tall man passed her. Wait, wasn't that John Cena? Wow! And how come he was allowed to wear regular clothes while all those other wrestlers were walking around in their swimming trunks?

Nina continued to follow the directions the nice pimple-faced young man had given her. She took a right and shortly after came to a halt because she saw Stuart Bennett walking towards her. As nearly every wrestlers she had met so far, he was tall and therefore towered over her comparatively small height of 5 foot 8. For a moment she internally debated whether she should introduce herself, but seeing as he wore a scowl on his face, it didn't seem like such a good idea, so she continued walking.

As they were about to pass each other, his eyes fell on her T-shirt. A crooked smirk briefly appeared on his face during which the other corner of his mouth miraculously managed to stay down turned. "Nice shirt," he commented and nodded at her.

Inevitably her eyes fell down on her own black T-shirt that proclaimed "Barrett Barrage".

"Thanks," she said simply and added "Good luck tonight!" as he walked past her.

Suddenly feeling a bit flustered, she took off her leather jacket and slung it over her right shoulder. After a few more steps she had reached her destination. The sign next to the door read "Sheamus", but suddenly she was unsure whether she should come knocking at his door just moments before the show started.

The decision was taken out of her hands because the door was ripped open, revealing Stephen on the other side. Instead of a greeting, all she got out was something unintelligent like a "guh" sound. Last time they had met he had been wearing a regular outfit. Now he was sporting a grey T-shirt that read "Brogue kick" in the front, his wrestling trunks and boots and that was it.

"Hey, you made it. Howya doin'?" he said with a smile.

"Your legs a really white," she said dumbly. Again with the awkward situations.

An uncomfortable silence settled upon them. The seconds they stood there in the door frame looking at each other seemed like an eternity to her. Then, quite unexpectedly, Stephen started laughing. It started as an amused chuckled, then turned into booming laughter. Poor Nina was still unsure how to react to the whole situation.

"Oi, relax, would you?" Stephen patted her shoulder. He was wiping at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand as he tried to suppress another fit of laughter for her benefit. It was plain to see how uncomfortable she was with the situation.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," she apologized.

"Ya mean the shirt?" For some reason his Irish accent was particularly thick right now. "I'd say you're bang on."

She threw him a questioning look, trying to determine whether he was joking or truly offended. He was leaning in the door frame now, his pose very casual, arms crossed over his chest. It didn't look like he was offended, she concluded.

"You'll like the shirt," she said, even managing to conjure a little smirk, now that she was starting to feel a bit more self-assured. "Business in the front, party in the back."

She turned around slowly, showcasing the shirt to him. The front consisted of half of a Wade Barrett T-shirt and the back was half of a Sheamus T-shirt. Her very unique creation, accomplished thanks to the creative use of a pair of scissors, a mad idea and sleep deprivation, was held together on both sides by a couple of safety pins. Because she didn't feel like showing off too much skin, she had opted to wear a black tank top underneath.

"Deadly," he commented.

"Is that good?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Jup." He grinned. "But why did I get the back?"

"Cause someone had to," she shrugged. "And it's no better or worse than the front." Her grin had grown cheeky now because she was very aware of the fact that there was no way he could make a retort without sounding chauvinistic or putting his foot in it.

He seemed to be aware of that too and resigned himself to a shrug. "I won't be up for another half an hour, but I have to meet up with Paul and go over the routine again," he explained. "I'll drop you off at catering. That's where most of the guys hang out anyway. Is that okay?"

She nodded and followed him, admiring the way he seemed to know precisely where to go despite of the chaos around him. True to his earlier words, catering was packed with some of the WWE's most famous faces. As she walked in, she immediately spotted the Big Show, Alberto del Rio and Chris Jericho among the mass of people. They were steering towards the Big Show, also known as the world's largest athlete. If she had felt small before, now she felt positively like a midget.

"Shit, I'm stuck in Brobdingnag," she muttered to herself.

Judging by the slight twitch of Stephen's mouth, he had heard her comment, but because they were so close to the other wrestler now, he pretended like he hadn't for propriety's sake.

"Hey, Paul, meet Nina Stewart. She's the newest addition to the creative team," he introduced her to the other man.

A huge hand was held out to her. The other man was really quite imposing. He seemed to be aware he had that effect on other people. That was probably why he smiled a particularly nice smile at her as she hesitantly shook his hand.

"Pleasure meeting you," she said.

"Likewise, but whatever happened to Mike?" Paul enquired in that deep, rich voice of his.

Nina chewed her bottom lip for a moment, looking between the two men, unsure how to defuse the situation. "He's been assigned to another storyline," she said diplomatically.

Her explanation, which strictly speaking wasn't untrue, seeing as Mike had managed to get in on a storyline centred around the championship title, seemed to satisfy Paul.

"Okay, so I'll meet you back here after my bit with Paul, right?" Stephen asked, looking straight at her, obviously wanting to give her the opportunity to back out in case she felt uncomfortable. But that was unnecessary. She didn't, so she nodded with a smile, looking with unconcealed longing towards the table behind her that was packed with food. Also, to her right there was a makeshift sitting area with steel chairs and a huge plasma screen. That was probably the place the wrestler who were not fighting in the ring would be watching the show. It didn't get anymore authentic than that.

"No worries," she waved him off. "Heaps of food? An almost obscenely big plasma screen? I'll get by."

"I'm sure you'll do. Just remember, don't break anything," he teased, already walking away.

"Same goes for you," she called at his retreating back.

He waved her off, throwing her a parting grin over his shoulder. As the two men walked away she heard Stephen ask: "Hey, Paul, does Brobdingnag ring a bell with you? Kinda sounds familiar..."

With a smile on her face she walked towards catering. She had skipped dinner in favour of finishing her workload and making her little bipolar wrestling fan-shirt. Her mouth started watering as she laid eyes on the tasty pasta dish displayed in front of her, so she loaded her plate with noodles and in passing grabbed a sparkling red apple for dessert.

She sat down at an empty table, not wanting to intrude on other conversations or appear like she was desperate for company. The pasta had been an excellent decision, so the food distracted her from the thought that she didn't know anyone.

A tray was placed next to her and she was forced to look at it. The combination on it was a little odd. Salad and three slices of bacon. She looked up and made eye contact with none other than Chris Jericho.

"Hi, you're with Stephen, right? I figured any woman willing to load her plate with that many carbs is worth meeting. Mind if I sit here?" the line was delivered with a dazzling smile which made it especially hard to say no.

She hastily swallowed down the pasta she had just stuffed into her mouth. "Not at all," she said, still looking in fascination between his plate and his face. "I should warn you though, I have a bad case of verbal diarrhoea..."

"Too bad and here I thought you were nice," he smirked as he sat down. "Any known cures?"

"Nope," she popped the 'p' in that little word, shaking her head regretfully. "I hope you don't mind me asking," actually that was a sentence she used a lot, "all those greens and the bacon, doesn't that sort of defy the purpose?" she finally enquired no longer able to suppress that particular question.

He gave her a smile she had seen on TV before. It was sort of cocky. On other people it might have seemed obnoxious and arrogant, he however made it work, coming across as a charming, yet self-assertive individual.

"It's good to be bad once in a while."

"Sounds like a line from a rock song."

"Maybe it is," he told her spearing a piece of lettuce with his fork. She waited for him to stop chewing, then held out her hand to him.

"Nina Stewart."

He looked down at his t-shirt that spelled his name in huge letters.

"Yeah, I know," she smiled. "And hey, you get to wear pants," she added in an afterthought. "Not wrestling tonight?"

If he thought her comment to be annoying, he didn't show it. In fact he even grinned at her. "Highlight reel," he explained. "Not up for another 15 minutes."

"Wow! I couldn't be eating 15 minutes before I go on stage," she said, pretty much blown away by his total lack of nerves.

"I've been in this business for a while," he winked at you. "You? Upcoming diva? Writer? Big Red's girlfriend?"

"One of the above is actually correct..." She left it up to him to figure out which.

"The verbal diarrhoea thing has me thinking writer," he grinned smirking at her as if she had already told him he was right.

She never got around to verifying his suspicion. They both looked up in unison as another man interrupted their conversation by sitting down across from them. "Hey, Chris, I didn't know it was "Bring-your-kids-to-work-day"," Mike Mizanin teased as slid into a chair across the table.

"What makes you think I'm his daughter?" Nina asked the man with an incredulous expression on her face.

"I don't know," the Miz shrugged, inspecting his fingernails. "You kind of look like him. Plus, you sort of give off that vibe. Similar hair, rock star attitude... A bit too pale maybe. And less full of yourself. So you're his daughter, right?"

"Really?" she asked in disbelief, apparently unaware she was stealing on of the Miz's most used lines.

"Really," Mike smiled back.

"I would be very glad if my Dad was that cool...," she started which Chris commented with a mocking "Awww!" from the side. "Don't get me wrong, I love my dad...," another "Awww!" now from Mike which she acquitted with a frown. "But Chris would have had to be very and I mean VERY young to have me."

Mike smiled. "Yeah, right," the way he said those words made clear that the topic wasn't off the table yet.

Chris sighed in resignation and pushed the tray away from himself. He would have loved to get back at Mike for his stupid joke, but it was time to go. "Thanks for jumping to my defence against that jackass here," Jericho told her with a friendly smile, already standing up. The ill-humoured, yet affectionate way he said the word 'jackass' implied a typical male friendship. "I gotta run. Real nice talking to you, Nina. Later, Mizanin."

"Later," Mike nodded and smiled, holding up his hand in salute. As he saw Alberto Rodriguez walk past their table, however, he grasped the opportunity to get in a parting shot before Chris was out of hearing range. "Hey, Bertie, have you met, Jericho's daughter?"

* * *

The match against Paul had gone well. Quite predictably it had been physically taxing, after all he had once again heaved his partner's considerable weight across the ring. After having signed a couple of autographs and taken a nice hot shower, it occurred to Stephen he had a guest to take care of.

He was actually curious to see what Nina had been up to in his absence. He found her sitting in the lounge chatting with Alberto, Mike and Chris. Stuart Bennett was on the other side of the room, staring down at a plate of food ill-humouredly. He sometimes got a little to deep in character, Stephen reckoned and clap him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, mate?" he addressed him, taking in the scowl on Stuart's face.

"It's that little chatterbox over there if you must know. I doubt she ever stops talking long enough to catch a breath," he pointed his fork in Nina's direction accusingly.

"Have you talked to her yet?" Stephen asked with a grin, already able to see where this conversation was heading.

"No, any reason I should?" Stu asked, looking up at him in wonder.

"Nina's new. Actually she's supposed to work as a writer for both of us from now on," Stephen told him calmly, taking a perverse pleasure in delivering that particular piece of news.

"Bugger me," the Brit swore next to him which made Stephen grin in amusement. "How's a bird like her supposed to write for guys like us, Farrelly?" Actually that was a very good question. As a matter of fact it was so good it had been running through his head ever since he met her.

"Well, she's nice enough if that helps...," he tried to appease Stuart and partially himself. "Besides, she wouldn't have gotten the job if she wasn't any good at it."

"Yeah, but have you read any of her stuff yet?"

Stephen shook his head. "No, but we are going to get the new scripts in the next couple of days."

"You wanna wait that long?"

"No," Stephen replied begrudgingly.

"Damn right," Stuart agreed. Frankly Stephen hadn't expected the Brit to agree so readily with him on anything. It wasn't like they hated each other, it was just that they were two very opposite ends of the spectrum character-wise. Stephen saw himself as outgoing and easy to get along with, whereas Stuart had a more closed of character. When he communicated, there was always a purpose behind it. He didn't just talk in order to socialise or pass the time.

"So what do you propose?" Stephen asked, stroking his beard with his right hand pensively.

"I say we put her to the test ourselves," Stu suggested, getting up from his seat, his meal for now forgotten.

"Test?" Stephen watched the group across the room that was merrily talking and laughing. Laughing... Now there was a thought. "Come on, Bennett," he slapped the other man on the shoulder companionably, "I might have an idea."

They made their way over to the others. As Mike Mizanin saw Stephen approaching, he cheerfully greeted him with the words: "Have you already met Jericho's daughter?" For a second Stephen was perplexed. Apparently Mike had finally snapped. Chris had an adult daughter? That just didn't seem right. His kids were barley older than ten, right?

Realizing that his friend still hadn't gotten the joke, Mike pointed at Nina, who was sitting next to Jericho. Stephen suddenly understood what the other wrestler was talking about. There were certain similarities. Like for instance they both wore very similar haircuts and dressed like wannabe rock stars, but that was where the similarities ended, he supposed.

"Met Jericho's daughter?" he quirked his eyebrow with a smirk. "Actually I invited her here."

Mike's eyes grew large. He shot up from his seat, raising his hand to claim everyone's attention. "Did you all know that Jericho's daughter is dating Red?"

His remark got him a uni-vocal "Shut it, Mizanin!" from both Stephen and Chris. Mike, however, wasn't bothered by their disapproval, he laughed and along with him most of the group. Nina shrugged her shoulder at Stephen, pointing at Mike as she exaggeratedly mouthed the words "He's crazy". He nodded at her and gave her a thumbs-up. She threw him an answering grin and got up to continue their conversation in a more conventional manner. Less miming, more actual talking.

"Good fight," she complimented him when she finally stood next to him. "You too of course," she addressed Stuart Bennett in a less self-assertive way.

Stephen opened his mouth to thank her, but the other man beat him to it, so he just snapped it shut and listened. "Thanks. The name's Stuart Bennett by the way," he held out his hand to her.

"Nina Stewart. I'm the newest addition to the creative team. I'll be writing for you and Stephen from now on."

Stuart acknowledged her words with a nod.

"Why don't we sit down?" Stephen suggested, dragging three chairs over to where the others were sitting. They took a seat and were soon included in the group's conversation again.

"Hey, Stuart, nice to have you over here for a change," Alberto remarked.

"Yeah, how come? Special occasion?" Chris asked.

Before the guys could ask any more questions regarding Stuart's sudden urge to socialise, Stephen decided to set his plan into motion. "Now that we've got Stuart here among us, remember our game from last SummerSlam, fellas?"

"Make Stu laugh?" Alberto supplied with a grin.

"How high was the jackpot anyway?" Chris asked, showing only mild interest in the idea.

"100 dollars," Stu announced darkly, making everyone look at him.

"Wanna give it a go, Nina?" Stephen suggested.

"I don't know," she hesitated.

"Come on, I thought you writers were such an insightful bunch," Stephen tried to encourage her.

"Yeah, humour us. We're curious to see what you can do," Stuart added.

Nina's eyes narrowed as she looked between her two charges. Whether they were narrowed in suspicion or disapproval remained unclear. She finally nodded. The look on her face changed from relaxed, to determined and finally settled on focused. "Any rules I should be aware of?" she asked, scooting to the edge of her seat.

"No rules, except it has to be intentional, otherwise it doesn't count," Stephen informed her.

"How long have I got?"

"One hour," Stuart informed her, thinking that that was a reasonable amount of time to get the job done.

The conversation moved on, but from now on it did without Nina's participation. She had grown quiet and her eyes were fixed on Stuart. She reminded Stephen of those animal explorers who spent hours spying on certain animals, hidden behind a hedge with a pair of spy glasses pressed to their faces. He wondered whether being under such close scrutiny made Stuart uncomfortable. If it did, he didn't show it.

"So Stuart, you're from the North, right?" she suddenly asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"Yes," came Stuart's rather monosyllabic and predictable answer.

"How could you tell?" Stephen asked.

"I lived long enough in London to spot a Northern accent when I hear one," she told him matter-of-factly. Apparently something did irritate her, because he had gotten to know her as quirky, bubbly and energetic to be point of being bouncy, whereas now she had sort of retreated into herself.

The interrogation continued. Stephen was reminded of a tennis match. Nina fired her questions at Stuart who mostly replied to them with one-word-answers.

"Soccer fan?"

"Yes."

"Doctor Who?"

"TV show for kids," Stuart scoffed.

"Top Gear?"

"Brilliant." There was something close to a smirk on Stuart's face as he said that.

"Python?"

"Too silly."

"Gervais."

"Just right."

The rest of the group had by now fallen silent and started to observe Nina's and Stuart's odd way of making conversation with something akin to morbid fascination.

Chris suddenly interrupted Nina's rather aggressive and innovative approach to getting to know Stuart by asking her a question himself. "Remember this one scene from Skyfall where Bond is questioned by some shrink?"

Nina turned her head and quirked her eyebrow at him. "So Stuart is Bond and I'm the shrink?"

"No, Stuart isn't Bond. If anyone gets to be Bond, it's me," Chris flashed her a toothy and very cocky grin.

"You're American," Nina dead-panned and Chris' face fell. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Stuart's mouth twitch.

"Actually I'm an American born Canadian," he pointed her index finger at her with a mock stern expression. "Remember that."

"I will... Wow, you guys, I've suddenly realized something! I guess that makes me half Canadian. Right, Daddy?" She threw him a cheeky smile. "That finally explains why I like ice hockey so much... That and the fact that I enjoy seeing the occasional tooth fly over the ice."

"Ah, violent tendencies... Careful! Blood lust in a girl is not that attractive," Mike scolded her with an amused smirk on his face.

"So if I went to 'Holiday on Ice' that would make me more attractive?" Nina asked.

"Don't answer that, Mike, it's a trap," Alberto advised.

"Yeah, like 'Do those pants make me look fat?'," Chris supplied.

"Or 'Do you think I've put on some weight?'" Stephen added with a grin.

"Or the question of whether it's better to have your logo on the front of a girl's T-Shirt or the back?" she looked at Stephen pointedly.

"Come on Nina, don't be like that. There is no way a man can answer those questions without getting himself into trouble," Alberto grinned at Nina.

Nina, however, had spotted her opening and was determined to make the most of it. If the way she was grinning was any indication, she took great pleasure in saying the next words. "Actually there are some answers to those questions, gentlemen. They will of course get you in trouble, but sometimes a good laugh is worth all the trouble in the world," she paused for effect.

"So let's hear those answers," Stuart challenged her.

There was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. "Okay, here goes: 'Yes, those pants make you look fat, dear. You'd better shop at the men's department from now on. They might have something in your size.' " The men were staring at her incredulously.

"Number 2: 'You're right, you've put on some weight, darling. Ever wondered why I keep humming 'Baby's Got Back'?" Chris was laughing softly and Stuart was faking a cough, so he wouldn't erupt into laughter. Nina's grin broadened and assumed gazillion-watt qualities now that she turned her head to look at Stephen. She actually possessed the cheek to flutter her eyelashes at him before she spoke.

"But the last one's my favourite. 'Sorry, the back's worse than the front, because I'm a breast man. Don't take away the only decent excuse I have to look at them.' "

Stuart's barking laughter burst into the embarrassed silence that followed her last remark and mingled with Mike's and Chris' suppressed chuckles that were slightly muffed because they wouldn't dare to openly laugh at Stephen's expense.

The latter had jumped up from his seat with a disgruntled "What?!", trying to cover up the fact that he was mortified to the bone by her remark.

To be fair to Nina, upon seeing his reaction, her smirk vanished and turned into a look of genuine concern. Despite appearing calm on the outside, internally she was praying she hadn't misjudged Stephen. Hopefully his sense of humour was as well developed as she thought. Quite anxiously she watched the movements of his blue eyes which were sparkling in irritation. They settled momentarily on her face, then inevitably focused on Stuart who was still guffawing and wiping the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

She stood up and placed herself in front of him. She stretched out her hand, smiling at him. "I'm sorry, Stephen," she said, "I really am, but I think you owe me 100 dollars."

He looked down at her, his face still flushed with anger. They didn't talk to each other, but something transpired between them nevertheless that was merely conveyed by looks and body language. Her expression was serious, if not a little embarrassed as well. The tips of her ears glowed in a pinkish hue. She was blushing which indicated that she was not as brazen as she had wanted to appear. Her hand hesitantly touched his left arm and gave it a brief squeeze before she let it drop again. For some reason he could tell that her brave facade was seconds away from getting its first cracks or even crumbling. Even though he was still slightly disgruntled, he decided to not embark on the warpath this time.

"We can make it 80 dollars if you want?" She shot him a shy smile, obviously desperate to salvage the situation.

The left corner of his mouth curled into a crooked smirk as he stroked his beard and looked down at her in amusement. "Stuart's laughed his cacks off, so I gotta compliment you on job well done. However there's still one thing..." he intentionally let her stew a bit there.

"What?" she asked anxiously.

"You should turn around your T-shirt now."

She laughed at his remark and actually tugged a little at he top. "So we're good then?"

"Yeah, we're good. No worries," he reassured her.


	4. Spoiling For a Fight

**Author's** **note**: _Thank you for those awesome favourites and follows. I'd love hearing from you as well, though. Maybe you want to drop me a few lines... Anyhow, much more to come. Have fun!_

Today the WWE headquarters had faxed the new scripts to the wrestlers' present location. Nina imagined an intern operating the fax machine with pearls of sweat on his forehead. Before her mind's eye she saw another pair of eager hands grab those pages the fax machine several hundred miles away spit out. The thought of the people at the end of the line of that delivery process gave Nina pause and made her nervous. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to hear from Stuart and Stephen, yet again she wanted to know what they would have to say about her first official script.

Sure, she couldn't have gotten everything right on the first try, but she needed some input, constructive criticism – anything really. Those thoughts kept buzzing around her head all day. They made her irritable and snappy. At lunchtime she picked at her food without any real enthusiasm. She refused to engage in conversation. It was like a dark cloud was hovering over her head.

Luke made the mistake of asking her what had caused her dramatic mood swing for which she nearly bit his head off. Wasn't he aware that her job depended on what the two men would have to say about her script? Her boss could praise her all he wanted, but what ultimately counted was keeping both parties happy - her employers and the talents.

The pressure was higher than usual because this time she had also written for someone who was strictly speaking not her responsibility. What if she had messed up Randy Orton's lines? The what-ifs were amounting and driving her crazy.

When it was time to leave work, she did with great pleasure, which was an oddity for her. As a rule she enjoyed doing her job, but right now she had to get away. Her hands kept reaching for her cellphone. They were itching to send a brief message to Stephen. All she wanted was ask him what he thought about her work. Luckily she managed to stop herself every time.

In order to keep herself from going mad, she drove home quickly, stormed inside her apartment, changed into some sweatpants and a T-shirt and went for a run. Under normal circumstances she never went without her cellphone, because she liked to listen to some music while working out, but today she left it behind on purpose. The only sound that accompanied her on her run was the steady rhythm of her feet, the noise of children playing in the park and the occasional barking of a dog.

Today she pushed herself to the limit. She ran until her sides ached. She was punishing herself because she couldn't stop her overactive mind from worrying and imaging all kinds of dreadful scenarios, involving ripped up script pages, curses and all kinds of drama.

Sweaty and exhausted from the run, she sat down on a park bench a couple of steps away from her apartment building. She dreaded going home. She knew the first thing she would do was check her damn cellphone for new messages.

Only when the sweat on her back turned cold and her wet clothes started to become rather uncomfortable, she got up and walked the few meters home. Nina unlocked the door and headed straight for the shower. When she heard the loud bleep of an incoming message, however, she actually jumped out from under the spray of the water and ran to the living-room to check her cellphone.

As soon as her soapy finger held the cellphone in their grasp, she let out a groan. It was a text from her phone company informing her about this month's bill.

Now she felt a right fool, standing there naked, dripping water all over the carpet. She needed to get a life outside her job. Go out, meet other people... Her fingers typed in a message to the only two people she knew in town so far: Maria and Luke. Her behavior had not been despicable enough to make them consider shunning her for being a complete and utter bitch, had it?

Surprisingly Maria answered her immediately, saying that she would be happy to go out for a couple of drinks with her. Luke's reply followed shortly after. He had already made plans for tonight, but the general teasing tone of the message told her that he wasn't holding a grudge like she had feared.

Two hours later she was having cocktails with Maria at a fancy bar. The two women were chatting away merrily, for once avoiding to talk about work. Nina's cellphone lay forgotten in her bag.

"So you're engaged," she took a sip from her drink, looking at Maria's engagement ring that sparkled underneath the dimmed artificial light from above. "How does that feel?"

"Fantastic," she paused rethinking her statement, "but also a bit weird," she added with a smile.

Nina smiled back. "Tell me something about your fiance...," she encouraged her.

Maria licked her lips, thinking about where to start. "Well, he's very handsome of course," she started with a grin. Nina chuckled, already feeling her drink getting to her head. No wonder. She was a lightweight. "He's called Rodrigo and he's Dominican..."

"Oh, so that's why you speak Spanish so well!" Nina interrupted her with a knowing bright smile.

Maria winked at her before she took another sip of her drink. "I speak Spanish so well because I'm just that good, chica."

"What does Rodrigo do for a living?" Nina inquired.

"He's an architect."

Nina made an appreciative sound. "I bet that's an interesting job."

"I guess it is. But I couldn't be doing it. It might not seem like it, but it's got a lot to do with figures, calculations and statistics. I never was any good at math."

"Me neither," Nina admitted. "Why do you think I ended up in writing?" Both women laughed at that.

"Any man in your life?" Maria asked, using the relaxed mood to help her satisfy her curiosity.

"No," Nina told her, chewing the top of the straw that was sticking in her drink.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Not really," she shrugged her shoulders. "I've only just moved here. I need some time to settle in. New job, new town, new friends," saying the last word she smiled at Maria. The other woman reciprocated her smile and patted her arm in a gesture of reassurance.

"Still, if you had to pick a guy, what would he have to be like?"

Nina frowned. She had never given that sort of question much thought. She liked the people she liked and that was it. Thinking back to her previous boyfriends, she couldn't determine whether she liked certain mannerisms or certain looks. She chewed her bottom lip. "I'm not sure I have a type."

"Come on, everybody has. I'm sure yours is tall and muscular," Maria teased.

Nina wrinkled her nose. "Like those wrestlers we write for?"

Maria nodded avidly.

"I think not."

"So what then?"

"Are you always that persistent?" Nina laughed, trying to deflect the question.

"Only when I'm curious about something. So come on. Think! I want to know," Maria told her, picking up her glass, rattling around the ice cubes in it.

"Well, for one thing he would have to have a decent sense of humor...," Nina started.

"There we go. Keep going," Maria encouraged her, almost sounding a bit overeager.

"He would have to be smart, ambitious, but not too ambitious... It's hard to explain," Nina was struggling a bit to find the right words here. "He should have certain goals in life, but he shouldn't do anything cutthroat or untoward to achieve them, you know?"

Maria nodded. "I'm disappointed. Still nothing at all in the looks department?"

Nina thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, nothing. As I said, I don't really have type. You know how you sometimes meet a guy and you think he's really hot and then he opens his mouth and ruins it all? I've had that happen to me too many times."

"Amen to that," Maria raised her drink to toast her. They clinked their glasses together.

Later that night, on the taxi ride home, Nina finally checked her cellphone again. There were a couple of unread messages. The first one was only a few minutes old. It was from Maria.

"Thanks for a great night. We should do this more often."

Nina smiled as she typed in her answer: "I agree. We should. See you tomorrow! Sleep tight!"

The other messages were from a few hours ago.

There was one from Stuart. True to his character it was rather short and very understated. "Not bad," it read.

She smirked. That was a relief. She reckoned Stuart was not easily impressed. "Thank you. And thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it," she texted back.

The last message was from Stephen. "Good job. You're hired ;-) ," it said plain and simply.

Strangely enough answering Stuart's message had been easier. It took her quite some time to find the right words and when she did they were quite unspectacular. "Thank you."

Contrary to Stuart, however, Stephen texted right back. Maybe he was still up and bored.

Stephen: You're welcome. I've got a question though...

Nina wrinkled her forehead, but quickly answered nevertheless.

Nina: OK...

Stephen: Brobdingnag. That's from Gulliver's Travels, right?

She let out a bark of laughter and the taxi driver briefly turned his head to look at her. "I'm okay," she told him. "Now, shoo! Look at the road."

Nina: You're still thinking about that? That was days ago...

Stephen: What can I say? It's been bugging me...

Nina: Yes, it's from Gulliver's Travels.

Stephen: Ha! I knew it...

She didn't know what to answer to that apart from shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes which wasn't really something you could convey by writing a text, so she just waited for him to send another message. After a few moments he did.

Stephen: What are you up to?

Nina: Taking a taxi home after sharing a couple of drinks with a friend.

Stephen: Aha. Bolloxed?

Nina: What?!

Stephen: Flaming? Fluthered?

Nina: I don't understand. Sorry.

Stephen: I'm just messing with you. Ever wondered why there are so many different expression for the state of being 'drunk' in Irish?

Nina: No. Are you maybe bolloxed? ;-)

Stephen: Nah! Just another hotel room, another night on the road... Don't mind me.

Nina: Awwww. You'll live. Wanna hear the one Irish word I know?

Stephen: What is it?

Nina: Craic.

Stephen: Figures. Talking to you mostly is craic.

Nina: Flatterer. :-)

Stephen: You're welcome. Well, off to have a kip now.

Nina: Is this Irish 101? You mean you're going to sleep, right?

Stephen: Bang on. ;-) Night. Take care!

Nina: Night. You too.

* * *

Wrestlemania 29 was just around the corner and in the weeks before the WWE headquarters in Stamford resembled a beehive, busy with activity. The atmosphere was tense and it was particularly tense in the little room Nina was brooding in with three others of her colleague, namely Mike, Dom and Robert. They were supposed to come up with an idea for the 6-man-tag-team-match between Sheamus, Randy Orton, the Big Show and the Shield. They had nothing. Well, apart from one thing. They knew that in the end the Big Show was going to betray his tag team partners.

"We have to make our guys look good out there," Nina summed up the situation, more talking to herself than to anyone else.

"Relax, we'll figure it out," Robert told her. He was in his mid forties and his charismatic smile partly made up for his receding hairline.

"Easy for you to say, Rob, when it's your guy who's going to mob the floor with Sheamus and Randy," she smiled at him, despite the fact that she was massaging her trembles tiredly.

"This is not helping us," Mike said forcefully. "We should have prepared better for this. You should have kept in touch with me, Nina, but you're always so damn focused on yourself."

The accusation behind his words was far from being subtle. Nina was not that impulsive, but now she actually had to bite her tongue. She wouldn't give Mike the satisfaction of provoking her to lash out on him in public. It would only put her in a weak position. She was the newcomer. Mike had been working for the company for years. Though he was no more than five years her senior, he had made quite a name for himself and was considered a battle-proven veteran by many.

"You're right, we should have met before," she gave him a pointed look, thinking of the many times he had left her hanging or brushed her off impatiently whenever she had tried to arrange a meeting with him, "but the situation is what it is now..."

"Let's take inventory here for a sec," Rob suggested. "In one corner we've got the Shield who are going to win this fight just like every other one they have been in..."

"Why are they going to win and not Sheamus, Orton and Big Show? What's going to make the difference?" Mike thought out loud.

"The Shield is the hottest property of this company right now because they work so well together as a team," Dom gave to think, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his neck. He didn't seem to be too perturbed by the thought of having to come up with an idea for not only one wrestler, but three as it was the case with his team.

"Yeah, so our guys will not work together quite so well...," she thought out loud.

"How did you come up with that brilliant idea? Stating the obvious here. Hurry up, will ya? I've got another meeting coming up right after this one," Mike scolded her, once more putting his loveable character on display.

It wasn't hard coming up with the next idea, because it mirrored their current situation. Mike was constantly trying to upstage her. "How about that? Sheamus needs to tag. Big Show desperately wants in on the fight, but Randy Orton tags himself in instead...," Nina started.

"And Big Show only gets to stand back and watch," Mike interrupted her.

"That's good. If Show spends too much time waiting around for a chance to fight, he's going to go grow impatient and pick a fight," Rob said.

"He first smacks Orton down, then Sheamus. End of story. How do you like the idea, guys?" Mike got up from his chair. There was a winning smile on his face that was supposed to cover up the fact that it had actually been Nina who had come up with that particular idea in the first place.

Nina growled quietly too herself as she watched Robert and Dom slap Mike congratulatory on his shoulders. Luckily she didn't have to spend anymore time locked up inside this room with Mike or else she might have soon taken a page out of Sheamus' book and kicked that stupid ass right in the face.

Now that they had come up with an idea for the fight, the meeting was over. The four colleagues agreed to flesh out the scene separately at their respective desks. They would meet up again later that day to add the finishing touches to it. Nina gave them a curt nod before she stormed from the room, walking towards her office at a very brisk pace.

She ripped open the door. To her dismay she noticed that neither Luke nor Maria were there. Now she didn't even have someone to talk to after what had happened. They would have understood her anger and maybe even managed to get her out of her sulk with a few gentle words or a joke.

Nina had to get herself together somehow, so she got her cellphone out of her bag, rammed the headphone cable into it and scrolled through her play-list. One folder went by the subtle little title "butt-kicking-music". She opened it and the music of the Dropkick Murphys was soon filling her ears.

The first song that played was "Shipping up to Boston". She had written some of her best lines for Sheamus listening to that song. It was probably a good idea to start writing a fighting scene now because her own blood was boiling, so she didn't waste any more time and switched on the computer.

* * *

Stephen's nerves rarely played up anymore before he headed out on stage. The only time he still got that queasy feeling in his gut was before PPV events or Wrestlemania. Well, Wrestlemania would kick off in a couple of minutes and he was quite jittery.

He was still backstage, in his dressing room, trying to get in the zone. He had to be focused. Focus was essential, especially in a tag team match involving five other guys.

The prospect of having his arse kicked tonight in front of a several million viewers world-wide was not very uplifting, but that was what the higher-ups had decreed. It didn't matter after all. A fight was a fight...

He reached for his cellphone, about to turn it off, when a message came in. Curiosity got the better of him and he read it.

Nina: So excited for the show tonight! Kick some ass, Farrelly! Good luck and stay safe! See you later.

The message was relatively neutral. Nevertheless reading it helped to calm him down.

"You'd better watch me get my arse kicked tonight. :-) It was you who wrote it after all. See you on the other side of this monster," he quickly wrote before he switched off the phone and left the room.

He walked through the massive backstage area of the stadium, dimly noticing that a staff member had started following him and was nervously talking into his headset. The corridors were buzzing with activity. Somewhere in the VIP lounge Nina, together with the rest of the creative staff, was probably getting ready to watch the show.

It was always a massive feat for the company putting together such an event like Wrestlemania. True, most of them weren't of much use anymore after this event, but the euphoria of the show lasted them for the rest of the night and created an incredibly positive mood among everyone involved in the project. It meant the culmination of weeks of preparation, planning and intense stress.

He reached Randy's dressing room and knocked once, rapping his knuckles against the cool wood of the door. By now he was on autopilot, focused on what lay ahead. Warm up, get out there and give the people one hell of a show.

The time until his music hit passed in a flurry of hectic activities. He stepped out on stage and was suddenly hit by how large the stadium was. The screen behind him was massive. Seen from up above, he had to look like a tiny human-shaped smudge of white, red and green. The bright light of the floodlights was on him. He smiled. He was a mad Irishman in a sea of people about to get into one hell of a fight. Life didn't get any better than this. His heart was beating fast inside his chest which was quickly falling and rising. Besides him Randy burst out on stage, just as fired up as him. Paul came out moments later. Now here they were, minutes away from their big match.

They made their way to the ring. The crowd was cheering and he was pumped for a fight. His head switched off and his instincts took over. They guided him safely through the routine and kept him out of harms way. His vision was clear, yet he was so focused he perceived everything as if through a tunnel.

He smirked when he heard the crowd count along as he rained down his fists first one Rollins' chest, then on Ambrose's. He was having a grand old time, even though he already knew that his team was going to lose.

Only when he was backstage again and the rush of adrenaline subsided, he registered that not everything had gone as smoothly as he had initially thought. One of the guys had unintentionally kicked him in the ribs and in the stomach, but it wasn't such a big deal. He was used to that by now. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Someone held a towel under his nose. He accepted it gratefully and headed for the showers.

On the way there the feeling of exhaustion washed over him. It intensified once he was under the hot spray of water. It hurt when he massaged the shampoo into his scalp. Someone had pulled his hair a little too hard.

Stephen dried off and put on his street clothes, a regular black shirt and some jeans. He pulled a face when he saw his hair sticking up in all directions. He was tired and there was no way in hell he could be bothered to style it now, so he simple put on a black flat cap.

Now he was presentable again. He headed to the lounge area, wanting to see the rest of the matches.

When he arrived, Randy was already there, comfortably seated on one of those couches with a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. Next to him there was Mike, Stephen's former and Randy's present writer. Both men's eyes were glued to the huge screen in front of them that showed the live footage from inside the massive sports arena. Daniel Bryan and Kane were just about to start their match against Ziggler and Langston.

"Hey, Randy, good fight," he told the other man. Inevitably the duo looked up at him. Randy smiled and said "You too" before he focused back on the screen. Mike's eyes rested a little longer on Stephen. The Irishman wondered what one was supposed to say in a situation like that. It felt a bit like meeting up with a former girlfriend, the same awkwardness and uncomfortable silences.

"You gave them a good show, bro," Mike acknowledged, holding out his hand to him to congratulate him. They briefly shook hands.

There was a crowd of people to their left whose loud yells attracted their attention. It was the rest of the creative team. As their affiliations towards the different wrestlers varied according to who their charges were, they didn't seem to be able to agree on whether to boo or to cheer for one team. Stephen shook his head. Writers were really a crazy bunch.

"Looking for a moment of solitude and privacy, Mike, ey?" for a moment there was an amused sparkle in Stephen's eyes despite the exhaustion that had settled upon him.

"I get to see them everyday," Mike shrugged. "Sometimes a change of scenery is nice, if you know what I mean."

He did. Stephen was torn between sitting down with to the two men and actually going to look for a change of scenery himself. His eyes flitted across the room and he made eye contact with Nina. He smiled. She smiled back. He tried to get her to come over with a wave of his hand and a nudge of his head. Her eyes settled on the men seated on the couch behind him and she shook her head.

She usually was quite the sociable type and he was sure she would have jumped at the chance of getting to know Orton under normal circumstances, so it had to be Mike's presence that kept her from coming over, he concluded. "Something up with you two?" Stephen asked Mike.

Mike gave him an innocent look, pretending like he didn't know what he was talking about. "Nina? Oh, she's just being difficult again. You know how women are..." He dismissed Stephen's question.

Stephen was too tired to waste any more thought on the situation, so he just shrugged. "Alright, I'm going to go grab a beer. I'll be right back."

He made his way over to catering, his eyes always wandering back to the screen. He sucked in a breath through his teeth in sympathy when he saw Daniel take a hard fall. The look of pain in his eyes wasn't for show.

The first sip of beer was pure bliss. It was ice cold and ran smoothly done his throat, though the bottle was only a thimble compared to the good old pint from back home. Instead of walking straight back to Orton and Mike he decided to take a little detour.

As noiselessly as a man of his stature could possibly sneak up on someone, he made his way across the lounge towards Nina, zigzagging through the crowd. Stephen managed to get behind her without her noticing. He smirked to himself, taking in how transfixed she was with the happenings on screen. The dark-haired woman next to her had already noticed him and he signaled her to stay quiet by bringing his index finger to his lips. She nodded at him with a conspiratorial smirk.

"Nina Stewart! There you are!" his booming voice that was suddenly so close, let Nina do a double take and she almost spilled her drink all over herself in surprise.

"Stephen... Hi!" Her facial features changed from completely flummoxed to genuinely happy in the rather short time it took her to turn around. Her smile was very toothy and even more exuberant than usual.

"Good job!" she patted his shoulder awkwardly. It was more than obvious she was overly self-conscious when it came to interacting with him. Her sympathy towards him was showing in her smile, but she wouldn't go as far as to hug him. Now why was that? Maybe she thought that was untoward or something. Luckily he didn't give a rat's arse about whether hugging her was untoward or not. He was still riding that after-show-buzz and it seemed like a good idea.

She let out a surprised squeal when he laid his arm around her midriff in an one-armed bear hug. Her feet briefly left the ground and dangled in the air. She spilled a little of her drink on his shirt, but he didn't mind. It was black anyway and the expression on her face, a mixture of mock indignation and pure delight, rewarded him for whatever damage his wardrobe might have suffered.

He set her down again carefully, noticing that their display of affection had drawn some attention, a couple of her coworkers were staring at them before they refocused their attention on the screen. He could bring himself to care however, because she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Wow, you're strong!" she praised and once again he had no doubt that those words made the way from her brain to her mouth completely undiluted.

"Thanks. Has anyone ever told you, you make noises like a cuddly toy when you're being hugged?" he grinned back.

Instead of an answer she poked him in the rips with her index finger and he flinched because she had hit the same precise spot an unidentified boot had connected with earlier.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, looking at him in concern. "Are you alright? Have I hurt you?"

"Relax, Nina. I'm fine." As he said those words, it occurred to him that he actually told her to relax a lot. But what was a fella to do? It was true, she needed to relax more. It was like she was constantly wired.

"I'm not convinced," she said, looking up at him through narrowed eyes, "but if you say so."

"Just a few scrapes. The guys were a little overzealous because it's Wrestlemania," he told her calmly, taking another sip of his bottle of beer. She still looked unconvinced, as if she was actually contemplating calling 911. He gave her speculative look.

"Say, Nina," he said, "you seem awfully worried. How much of the stuff we do, do you think is real anyway?"

She blushed. "About 80%?"

He shot her a skeptical and rather disbelieving look, indicating with his thumb that the figure was lower.

"70?" She asked doubtfully.

He made a tutting sound, shaking his head. With a sigh he patted her shoulder. "A'll make ya a deal, little lady," thanks to his amusement with her, his accent was particularly thick. "We're training for Raw tomorrow afternoon. Ya wanna come?"

"To watch?" she asked excitedly.

"You just wanna be watching?"

She nodded.

"Nah! I'll teach you some moves," he laughed.

"I don't know," she looked at his broad muscular shoulders and arms skeptically.

He gave her a look of mock indignation. "Worried I'm gonna snap you like a wee, little twig?" he tried to hide his grin while drinking from his bottle.

"Among other things," she took a sip of her own drink.

"You're very nervous tonight, huh? What are you drinking anyway?" he gave the liquid inside her glass a funny look.

"Coke?"

"I am in me wick!"

"What?"

"I said you must be joking. The last thing you need is more caffeine," he gently plucked the glass from her hands and placed it on the bistro table next to him. For now it was out of her reach.

"That would explain why you're always so fidgety...," he said, raising his eyebrows reproachfully at her.

"I'm sorry but the prospect of training with a pro-wrestler would make just about anyone fidgety. With or without caffeine," she crossed her arms over her chest and for the first time he noticed how nice she looked tonight. She wore a black jumpsuit and her hair was neatly styled.

On impulse he leaned down, so his head was level with hers. She noticed how his blue eyes were sparkling in the dim light. He was smiling and his dimples were showing. He was in a particularly good mood tonight and she could help but reciprocate the smile. "Have a little faith in me. I would never hurt a lady, okay? You'll be safe as houses with me."

Strangely she did believe him and it seemed to show on her face, because he patted her shoulder in satisfaction. "Atta girl."

The match on screen took an interesting turn and claimed their attention. She sidled up beside him, standing on one side of the table while he was leaning on the other. For a couple of minutes they watched the match in companionable silence, except, of course, for those muffled sounds of approval and muttered curses one typically makes when watching a fight.

Out of the corner of her eyes Nina saw Maria turn around to her and give her a cheeky thumbs up. She waved her off. Luckily Stephen hadn't seen. Luke was more obnoxious and less discreet, making kissy faces at her, while contorting his face in all kinds of funny grimaces. She heard Stephen chuckle besides her and she hit her forehead with the palm of her hand in a gesture that clearly indicated her annoyance and embarrassment.

"You know your life would be a lot easier if you'd stop being embarrassed about everything," he said before he could stop himself.

"I know. I'm not usually like that," she said, reaching for her Coke again. He swatted her hand away from it, slapping her wrist ever so slightly.

"Just around me then?" he inquired, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Yeah," she admitted finally.

"Well, you don't have to be. There's no reason."

She gave him a long serious look as if she was trying to figure out whether his words were true. After a while she finally nodded.

As a peace offering he held out her drink to her. She made as if to reach for it, but then, without a warning, she snatched the cap right off his head instead.

"Oi! Give it back, you nutter!" His hair was flattened to his head and in general not looking very presentable.

She took pity on him, holding out his cap to him with a smile. "You know, I've got some hair gel in my bag if you want to use it. I'm sure you need to give a couple of interviews later," she said with a sly grin.

"No need," he grumbled as he put the cap back on his head quickly.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. "I usually have mine done in the blink of an eye."

He eyed her hair more closely now. She had gelled it up in something resembling a mohawk, which gave her a slightly edgy look. He decided to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "Away with ya'! That can't be true..."

"It is. How about when this match is over, we'll head to the men's and I'll show you?" she challenged.

"You're on," he told her with a smirk. He never backed down from a challenge. "That hair gel of yours better not be smelling of gum or cherries or any other girlish stuff."

"Coconut," she grinned and he let out a small groan of disbelief, but it was too late for second thoughts now, he had already said he would play along, so he couldn't back out anymore.


	5. It's a Man's World

**Author's note:** _Thank you to UntilNeverDawns, ghunter182003 and Britty and everyone else who's read and enjoyed the story so far! Here's the next chapter. _

* * *

They focused their attention back on the screen. Soon enough Ziggler was counted out after having been pinned by Bryan. She motioned him to follow her with a nudge of her head. He sighed and trudged after her with moderate enthusiasm. After a few steps they were right in front of the men's.

"You check whether the coast is clear, I don't want to see anything that could make me go blind," she told him. He smirked and popped his head into the men's.

"Coast's clear," he informed her and held the door open to her, beckoning her inside.

She confidently walked up to the large mirror that covered the wall behind the washing basins, then turned around to look at him. "This will do," she announced. A woman on a mission, she had forgotten about being shy around him. She grabbed a hold of his shoulders and maneuvered him to stand with his back leaned against the counter.

"Why do you have to be so impossibly tall?" she muttered more to herself than to him.

He grinned and scooted lower, so that they were almost on eye level. She came closer, invading his personal space by positioning her feet left and right of his outstretched legs and taking off his cap again.

"Hold that!" She thrusted his hat at him. Nina was sort of bossy when she was focused. He smirked. He kind of like that.

"Yes, ma'am." His remark got him a smile. He grinned back at her, squaring his shoulders.

She produced the hair-gel from her bag and dipped her fingers into the sticky substance. The strong and sort of pungent smell of coconut hit his nostrils. He grimaced.

"Alright, let's get this done with. Lucky for you me ego's big enough, so I can live with smelling like a cabana boy all evenin'," he commented and watched her eyes narrow at him in disapproval. Despite the intense coconut smell, he also caught a whiff of her perfume. It was sweet and sort of reminded him of cotton candy. Under the artificial light her skin seemed rather pale, just like his. And that up close he could even see a few freckles dusting her nose.

At first she ran her fingers through his hair tentatively, trying to make it stick up in the right direction. A slight grin tugged at her mouth when she succeeded. She grew bolder, her touches turning from tentative to more self-assured.

He had to admit this was sort of nice, having her standing there, running her fingers through his hair. His eyes were still on her as she was busy fixing his hair. He took his time studying her. There was a little scar at the end of her left eyebrow. She wore three earrings on one side and only one on the other. Under the fluorescent light he could see her eyes were not completely brown as he had initially thought, but there were flecks of green in them where the irises met her pupils.

She must have felt his eyes on her because their gazes suddenly locked. Her fingers stopped running through his hair. A smile started spreading on her face. It was sort of exasperate like she was smiling at a naughty boy she had caught doing something he shouldn't have. She patted his cheek, using the back of her hand instead of her palm in order to avoid getting any of that hair-gel on him.

"All done now, you handsome Irish devil," she said and took a step back.

He turned around, inspecting himself in the mirror. His hair was spiked up and looked like he usually wore it; just that she had been quicker about styling it and had done a better job at it than him in general.

"Well, I'll be damned...," he turned his head left and right, continuing his inspection.

"We're not done yet," she said from behind him.

His eyes fell on her reflection in the mirror, taking in her maniacal grin with concern.

She produced a small can of hairspray from her bag. "Close your eyes and hold your breath," she instructed.

"What?" he chuckled nervously. He whipped around, retreating a bit from her and the can, "Are you going to kiss me?"

At that she lowered the can she was brandishing like a weapon. "Farrelly, if I wanted to kiss you, I certainly wouldn't be dragging you to the men's of all places..." She raised the can again and took one more step in his direction. His back collided with the counter behind him. There was no place to run. Who would have thought that he would be fleeing from a cheeky girl with a hairspray can in her hand come Wrestlemania 29? Certainly not him.

"Where would you be dragging me off to then?" He tried to distract her. Instead of an answer she raised the can to his head. The loud 'pfffff' sound of the hairspray being applied mixed with his coughs.

"You're good to go," she announced in a self-congratulatory and proud voice.

He waved his hand in front of his face and theatrically coughed some more.

"Now would be a good time to say thank you," Nina smirked.

"Thank you," he said and laid his arm around her shoulder to pull her into a brief hug against his chest. He was tempted to ruffle her hair, but she stopped him before he could set that plan into motion.

"Don't even think about it, Farrelly," she told him, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

He raised his hands, pleading innocence while backing away from her a little with a smile on his face.

"What about your cap?" she asked, spotting it lying on the counter behind them.

He shrugged. "I'm certainly not going to put it on anymore."

She walked over to pick it up and inspect it. It was a simple black flat cap. On a whim she decided to try it on. She gave herself a critical once over in the mirror. It didn't look that bad on her. Actually it looked rather nice.

He seemed to be thinking something along the same lines. "You keep it. Looks better on you anyway," he told her reflection with a smile.

"Don't you want it back?"

He gave the question some thought, then shook his head. "Nah! It suits you."

"Thanks, I guess," she smiled.

They exited the men's together. He inevitably stopped walking only seconds later, realizing that they would now part ways for tonight.

Apparently she had come to the same realization as well. "I'll be heading back to my other friends then...," she told him almost a bit regretfully.

The fact that she had said "other friends" and the implications of her unintentional slip of tongue didn't escape his notice. So she saw him as a friend. He grinned at her, feeling more invigorated now than he rightfully should, seeing as he had gone through a tough match earlier tonight.

"Yeah, Orton is probably going to send out a search and rescue team for me round about now... See you tomorrow then?" he asked, looking at her expectantly.

"If you text me where and when, I'll be there," she winked at him and left.

Stephen was still smiling by the time he returned to where he had last seen his friends. In the meantime Randy had gotten some company. There was Mizanin lounging comfortable on the couch and Alberto, but no trace of Mike.

Orton acknowledged his return with a sly grin. The others nodded at him. They exchanged compliments. "Good match!" Mizanin said. Stephen slapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, you too, mate." "Hey Berto, did you kick Swagger's arse?" Stephen inquired with a grin. If the Mexican's million-dollar-smile was any indication, he had. "Sì, we gave them a good show."

There was a no match right now, the TV transmission had gone into a commercial break, and for that reason conversation was possible. "Hey, Orton," Stephen addressed the other man, "where's Mike?"

Randy's mouth curled into a crooked smile. "He left when you disappeared with that writer-chick. Nina or something?" he told him with a shrug.

"Jericho's daughter?" Mizanin asked. He could tell his interest was piqued by the way he was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Hey, do you two have something going on?"

Stephen fixed first Mizanin, then the other men with a stern gaze. "No, there's nothing going on between us. She just a friend," he said in a tone of voice that made clear he didn't want them to keep making comments like that.

"So what did you do with 'just a friend' in the men's?" Orton asked calmly. He wasn't scared of Stephen's wrath. He knew the Irishman had a temper, but so had he. In fact the grin on his face indicated that he took a considerable degree of pleasure in asking that particular question.

Mizanin's eyes grew round, Alberto looked at him expectantly.

"Nothing. She fixed me hair. See?" Stephen indicated his freshly styled red hair that still gave off a strong coconut smell.

"Yeah, dude, she fixed something alright," Mizanin laughed and his comment made Stephen briefly consider whether he wanted to lift him up and smash him through a bistro table or any other piece of furniture within in reach.

"There's nothing going on between us...," he repeated with a little more vehemence now. He was fuming. A slight pinkish hue was threatening to spread on his face.

The other men knew Stephen rather well by now, spending months on the road together would do that to you, therefore it was easy for them to read him correctly. One more smart-ass comment out of their mouths and he would explode. They had seen it before. It wasn't pretty.

Miz had always found it rather funny when the Irishman lost his cool, so he was already trying to come up with another clever comment. Randy was curious to see what would happen next. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his broad chest, ready to enjoy the show. Alberto, the most diplomatic among them, decided to take it upon himself to defuse the situation that Orton or Mizanin would only aggravate. He stood up and walked up next to Stephen. "Hey, buddy," the very American word sounded strange in his heavy Spanish accent, "wanna go and grab a nice, cold beer?"

Stephen regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

* * *

Apparently Wrestlemania was something like Christmas in the WWE universe. After the massive feat of having to put together Raw and Wrestlemania, most of the creative team had a day off for some much needed r&r.

Nina doubted that training with Stephen would even remotely resemble rest or relaxation. Her heart sped up a little and she couldn't help but feel ridiculous when she entered the testosterone laden environment of the gym. She saw a lot of famous faces when she entered and unfortunately they saw her too and she received some odd looks. She kept her head low when she scurried past those sweaty weightlifting superstars and accelerated her tempo even more when she whisked past cardio.

The gym was basically one big hall. There were no walls separating the different areas from each other, perhaps because it was easier to get to people that way in case they sustained an injury, Nina reasoned.

The ring was on the other side of it. Stephen was already waiting for her there, his forearms resting on the top rope casually. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey," she said, depositing her bag a few meters away from the ring. She looked up at him, surprised to see him sporting a pair of track pants and his trademark gray "Brogue Kick" T-Shirt, instead of his usual wrestling gear.

"I like your shirt. Very positive," he commented with a grin, as she approached the ring. Since she had already expected this situation to be uncomfortable she had chosen to put on clothes she felt comfortable in. She was wearing black track pants and a matching black T-Shirt that showed Johnny Cash flipping the bird.

His comment made her chuckle. "Phew! That old thing? Glad you like it. I dressed up for you." She had climbed the few steps to the ring now and was hovering outside on the apron.

"Come on in," he tried to encourage her.

"You're not going to perform the White Noise on me once I do?" she asked half-teasing, half-serious.

He shook his head and grinned. "Come on," he repeated again, beckoning her to come closer with his index finger.

She climbed through the ropes. It looked sort of clumsy and for a moment he feared she would get tangled up in them, but then she was standing next to him without ending up like a fly caught in a spider's net. Her nervousness was rolling off of her in waves and he grabbed her ice cold hands for a second.

"Relax," he told her, his warm palms enclosing her sweaty and cold ones gently. "You're going to like this. First exercise - bounce off the ropes."

He let go of her hands and showed her. His movements were self-assured, if not a little cocky. It was clear he had done that a thousand times.

"You always bounce off with your back first. That is unless you want to kiss the mat outside 'hello'," he told her as he walked up to her again. "Now you go!"

Nina more trotted than ran towards the ropes. She let herself fall back into them back first, they gave away a little, then propelled her forward. Nina grinned and sped up as she made her way across the ring to the other side. The sound she let out when she bounced off the ropes a second time sounded deceptively like an excited and very enthusiastic "weeehee!". He chuckled and shook his head as he watched her go. The way she catapulted herself across the ring, she oddly reminded him of a human racquetball.

After a while however, he had seen enough. They couldn't just be doing that all afternoon. After all she wanted to teach her a few moves. "Oiii!" he called out and she obediently traipsed up to him.

"That was fun!" she grinned at him, reminding him a bit of a little overeager and playful puppy. That was probably why he decided to ruffle her hair.

She elbowed him in the ribs, obviously not liking it very much. He smirked. "That's the spirit, lass."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled in mock annoyance, trying to suppress a smile of her own. "So what now?"

"Before we start. One thing...," he wrung his hands, unsure how to come out and say it. "Well, wrestling is a very hands-on sport..."

"Yeah, I've kind of noticed that already," she smirked. She had never seen him embarrassed or flustered before. It was kind of cute.

"Okay, so if you're very, I don't know... Shy? Private? Adverse to being touched? You might want to take a rain check on that whole me-teaching-you-the-basics-of-wrestling-idea," he explained, scratching the back of his head.

"It's okay, I think."

"Yeah?" he asked, unsure whether she really meant it. "Sure this is not going to end in a sexual harassment suit?"

She actually laughed at that. "Highly unlikely."

"Phew!" he made a show out of wiping his completely non-sweaty forehead.

"So what now?" she asked, shifting her weight on her feet.

"I'll show you how to strike," he said. "Stand in front of me," he instructed.

Nina hesitated. He inclined his head and just gave her a look. Of course she was hesitant, after all she was unaware of how much of those moves he performed on a daily basis were actually real. "If it helps any, I'm not really going to punch you," he reassured her.

"Sure?" Nina asked.

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Course I'm bloody sure... But what do I know? It's not like I do this every day or somethin'."

"Alright, alright. Relax, you little hothead," she smiled. Nina complied and placed herself in front of him.

"We're going to do this very, very slowly. Like snail pace, okay?" he said. "Left foot forward," he stomped his left foot in order to emphasize his point. "Now you look down. No, not like that. Like that," he took a step closer and gently placed one hand between her shoulder blades and the other on her back to bring her in the right position.

He assumed his place in front of her from before. "Again, left foot forward. You throw the punch with your right. The fist moves in," he moved his own fist closer to her face, then stopped. His hand hovered a few inches from her nose in midair. "But you don't hit your opponent's face with your fist. You use your forearm to hit his chest." He moved back again.

"I'm going to show you the whole sequence now, okay?"

She nodded. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and executed the punch in slow motion.

"Got it?" he asked afterward. His tone of voice was lacking the usual self-assurances.

"Yep," she answered. "Can you speed it up?"

"'Course I can, but I'd rather let you watch, so you can take your time to memorize the movements." She acknowledged his words with a nod.

He turned and walked to the side of the ring closest to the cardio section. "Hey, Jericho!" he hollered. "Move your arse over here!" Soon an answering yell reached their ears from that cardio section of the gym, paired with some profanities. Nina only rolled her eyes. What did she expect? This was a nearly all male environment after all.

Seconds later Chris showed up at ring side.

"Hey, Daddy-O!" she greeted him with a teasing smile.

The blonde man threw her a cheeky grin and gracefully climbed up into the ring. "Play date with little Stephen here?"

"Little? I resent being called little," Stephen stepped in Chris' way. The other man merely a raised a teasing eyebrow, that cocky grin of his still in place.

"Don't all men," Liz muttered. Two pairs of eyes landed inevitably on her. Nobody had expected her to make that sort of comment.

"What?" she asked. They were still staring at her incredulously. "I just thought we could speed things up a little. For a second it looked like you were going to be derailed by verbally comparing the size of your genitalia. Can we please skip ahead? I'd rather learn something useful like, for example, how to strike someone."

If their expressions had been surprised before, they were now positively flabbergast. Stephen was the first to come out of his daze. He blinked, his shoulders started shaking before he finally erupted in laughter.

"Well, I've got bad news for you, fella, your daughter has quite a mouth on her," he laughed, slapping the other man on the back. Perhaps the slap had been executed with a little too much enthusiasm. Chris did a little jump when Stephen's hand connected with his shoulder blades. Nevertheless he was smiling too.

"She's taking after Daddy," he announced with a proud smirk.

"Gentlemen, please," Nina admonished leaning back against the ring post with her arms crossed over her chest. "I'm here to learn something..."

"She's kind of pushy too," Stephen observed with smirk.

"We better get started then before we end up in more trouble, huh?" Chris said and without any further warning he threw what looked like a perfectly real punch at Stephen.

Stephen immediately reciprocated. Now that she knew were to look she noticed the way they performed the move. Their fists never connected with the other's face.

"That is so cool!" she praised them, actually bouncing up and down on the spot thanks to her excitement. The two men exchanged grins.

"Now you come on over here and hit me," Stephen told her and motioned her to come closer.

"Oooh, so you like getting your ass kicked by a girl?" Jericho asked with a grin. He was already sauntering over to the corner of the ring from where he would watch the two of them. He hoisted himself up on the ropes and stretched out on them like he was launching on a futon .

"Ignore him," Stephen said to Nina who was now standing in front of him.

"Kind of hard. He's like a human exclamation mark. Especially when he's wearing that jacket with those flashing lights during show time," she quipped back.

"Ha! I kind of like that... human exclamation mark," Chris rubbed his chin.

"Yeah, sure you do," Stephen threw him an ironic smirk before he focused his attention back on Nina. "Now, let's try to concentrate, luv. You try to strike me now."

"Okay," she nodded and brought herself into position.

"First we'll go slow, then we'll speed it up. Human exclamation mark over there will tell you when you get something wrong." Chris threw Nina a mock salute. The young woman smiled.

She rolled her shoulders before she slowly extended her right arm in a punch, bringing up her elbow shortly before her fist would connect with his face. Her forearm landed against his chest without doing any damage.

"Okay, now we repeat this a couple of times..."

"How many?" she asked.

He narrowed his eyes pretending to be thinking hard whilst stroking his beard. "I don't know. How about twenty?"

"What?!" she looked at him with her mouth hanging open.

"You want to get it right, don't you?"

She nodded.

"There you go. Twenty times it is."

She sighed. There was no use protesting. He was the pro-wrestler and she was just someone who wanted to have a little sneak-peak into his world.

They assumed their positions from before. Chris started to count along. "One... Two... Three..." By the time they had reached ten, Nina felt confident enough to speed things up a little. That way she actually executed strike number 20 at full speed.

Oh my Gosh, what had she done now? Something had gone wrong! Stephen threw back his head with a cry of pain and covered his nose. Her eyes grew round in surprise as he staggered back a little and collapsed in the middle of the ring. "Stephen?" she asked doubtfully.

"Playing possum," Chris informed her.

"Sure?" she asked, looking between the seemingly unconscious Irishman and the other wrestler.

"I could climb top robe and quickly jump on his belly to check, if you want," he suggested with a devilish grin.

Nina made a face. That sounded painful. She shook her head, already walking up to the still motionless Irishman. She nudged his arm with the tip of her left trainer.

"I think it's dead, Jim," she told Chris.

She let out a loud rather girlish scream when suddenly Stephen's hand wrapped around her left ankle.

"I must have misheard. Have you just called me 'it', lass?" Stephen was already getting up again. There was that mad and very playful sparkle in his eyes that had her backing away from him.

"I have? Must be your hearing acting up, Stevie...," she took one more step back.

"Stevie!" Chris repeated, cackling gleefully.

"My hearing, ey? Stevie, ey?" Stephen was now standing directly in front of her with that slightly insane look still in his eyes.

Without a warning he scooped her up in a fireman's carry. She let out a loud squeal of protest as he marched to the middle of the ring with her on his shoulders. "So how does John Cena do that move again?" he called out to Chris, despite the fact that he knew perfectly well how John executed his finisher.

"No idea. Just throw her on the ground. That should do it," Chris suggested with a nonchalant shrug.

"Nooooo!" Nina squeaked from her position up on Stephen's shoulders. She expected to be hurled to the ground any second now, but instead Stephen gently placed her back on her feet.

"Don't ever call me Stevie again," he admonished her with a smile and pinched her cheek for emphasis.

She was breathing hard, apparently she had really been a bit scared, but she was smiling too. "You're such an ass," she told him and judging by the way she said it, her voice filled with affection and exasperation equally, it was meant as an endearment.

"Thank you, I try," he winked at her. "Wanna see some more moves or is your curiosity sated already?"

"What about that special move you perform when your opponent is standing outside on the apron?" she asked him.

He raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "You've been watching me matches?"

She gave him a look of exasperation. "Well, d'uh! I'm kind of interested in how you deliver the lines I give you, seeing as I write them..."

"And? Are you satisfied with his performance?" Chris sauntered up to them with a grin. No doubt he had deliberately made that double entendre.

"Wrestling is a man's world, huh? Focus, you guys," Nina admonished with a smile.

"So the chest-slappy-thing...?" she asked.

At that Stephen made a noise that sounded very much like a scoff. "Please, a little more respect. It's called the Beats of Bodhran."

"Alright," she amended, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "So if I may kindly ask, how are those Beats of Bodhan administered, Mr Farrelly?"

"Better," he grinned. "I'd show you, but that would definitely end up in a sexual harassment suit, luv," he told her, rubbing the back of his neck in what seemed to be slight embarrassment.

"Why?" Nina asked in astonishment.

Chris, however, seemed to be immune to notions like embarrassment and shyness and took it upon himself to actually spell out loud what the problem was. "He slaps his opponents chest, sweetie. I never thought I'd say that, but apparently I have to. Your breasts are kind of in the way."

Nina grinned. That grin grew bigger and bigger until finally she broke out in laughter. "Okay, then I'll just sit here while you two show me the move... No biggie."

"As the lady wishes," Chris bowed his head and made an exalted gesture with his hand. The words he directed at Stephen were of a slightly more practical nature. "OK, let's do this..."

In the following half an hour Nina learned more about wrestling than she thought possible in such a short period of time. The guys showed her several moves and let her try them herself as well. She couldn't remember when she had last laughed that much. Dealing with Stephen and Chris was easy. They had a solid sense of humor and didn't take offense easily. Nina was oddly reminded of the time she had hung out with her brother and his friends when she was younger. The atmosphere had been just as easy-going and laid back then.

"So I guess that's it," Stephen announced eying the clock on the wall behind them with trepidation. Tonight's show was only hours away. He was starting to get antsy.

"Really? Already?" Nina pouted, looking at him with a puppy dog expression on her face. Her attempt at playing cute was foiled by Chris poking her in the side with his index finger. She swatted at his hands and mumbled some ill-humored words of reproach.

"What do you know? Works with my kids at home, too," Chris proclaimed triumphantly.

"You mean rest of the family..." Liz had to smile at the thought of Chris interacting with his real daughter.

"Yeah, the rest of the family. Who knows, I'll have to eventually adopt you the way things are going," he told her patting her shoulder with a smile before he climbed out of the ring.

"See you tonight, mate," Stephen called after him.

"Thanks, Chris," Nina called after the other man's retreating back. Chris raised his hand in salute before he headed off to the locker room.

Nina turned to face Stephen. "I guess I'd better leave now, too. I'm sure you've got some things to do before tonight's show... It's been great by the way. You and Chris were great."

"Yeah, it's been fun," Stephen told her as he held open the robes for her to climb through.

She did and waited for him outside on the apron. "No, it was craic."

"Right," he chuckled.

"Seriously, Stephen. Thank you," she told him, placing her hand on his shoulder to emphasize her words.

"You're welcome, luv," he told her meeting her eyes with a smile.

"You're leaving for the European tour in a couple of days right?" she asked as they both packed their bags and got ready to leave. He nodded.

"Any chance we could talk shop before that? I just wanted to run some ideas past you before you leave..."

"Sure," he smiled.


	6. Gossiping Fishmongers

The sun was shining and Nina had decided to spend her lunch break alone, soaking up the gentle beams of the spring sun on a park bench close to the WWE headquarters. She had brought the flat cap along she had inherited from Stephen. It offered protection against the sun and she liked wearing it.

After having eaten her lunch, consisting of a salad and a sandwich, she stretched out on the bench. She positioned the cap on her face, so she could close her eyes for a couple of minutes. Her cellphone alarm was set, so there was no danger of her getting back too late in case she actually dozed off.

The cap smelled sort of nice, she noticed now that she had her nose practically pressed up against it. Not like hair-gel or anything. She had trouble analyzing that particular smell apart from it being rather nice. Her musings were interrupted by the familiar voices of two coworkers. She left the flat cap on her face, not wanting to interrupt her little siesta. Hopefully they wouldn't come over and pester her with their company. Her worries, however, were completely unfounded. They hadn't noticed her. Still she could hear their voices very clearly. They must have sat down on that little bench across from her, a few meters away.

The two women chattered about the weather for a while and other trivial topics. Nina recognized their voices. The two of them wrote for the diva's division.

Their conversation suddenly took a turn from irrelevance to extreme relevance. "Have you heard about the latest rumor concerning that new girl?" one of the women asked. Nina certainly hadn't. She was curious to hear how that conversation would continue.

"You mean Nina, right?" the other voice asked. "She's kind of nice, sort of quirky, but..."

The first voice interrupted her, blurting out her news as if she could no longer contain herself. "You won't believe it! She's got something going with Sheamus. I heard they hooked up in the men's during Wrestlemania."

"Really?" the other voice practically doubled over in excitement and culminated in a surprised squeal. Nina was thinking something along the same lines, just that she was livid instead of surprised.

"Really!" the first voice confirmed with a giggle.

"She doesn't seem the type," the second voice reasoned and Nina sort of felt compelled to say a mental 'thank you' to her fairly unfamiliar coworker.

"But it has to be true. Mike told me," the other voice gave to think.

Mike! Nina was barely able to contain herself now. That bastard! Just who did he think he was? She wanted to grab the plastic fork she had eaten her salad with and head back to WWE headquarters to stab Mike in his black heart with it. Come to think of it, that sounded a bit bloodthirsty, but she was actually that angry.

It was hard not to jump up from the bench and march back immediately to the WWE to confront Mike about the rumor he had started. All she could do was sit there, her hands balled to fits. Her fingernails were digging into her palms uncomfortably. She would notice those tiny crescent shape indentations later on her way back to the office, for now, however, her mind was consumed with plans of revenge.

During the course of the day her plans of revenge and her anger made room to profound frustration. She was sitting at her desk chewing pensively at the end of a pen when Luke finally had enough of her sulking.

"What's up with you?" he asked.

They were alone in the office. Maria had a meeting with Jack Swagger's writer.

Nina blew out her breath. "Nothing," she lied.

"Sure, a big fat nothing that has you looking like you've turned into the female version of Wade Barrett. All sulky and ill-humored."

"Wade's not ill-humored. He's just not all daisies, sunshine and lollipops. I kind of like that about him," Nina retorted with a little more zest than necessary. She was rather protective of her charges.

"Cut the crap. This is about that stupid rumor making the rounds, right?" Luke was too observant for his own good.

Nina groaned and buried her head in her hands. "You've heard it too? That's great. Just frigging fantastic..." She banged her head against her desktop.

"Come on, it's not that bad. Well, not as bad as what they say about me..."

Nina looked up to stare at him questioningly, her platinum blonde hair hanging into her eyes.

"They say that Leonard Nimoy has a restraining order against me," he explained.

"And? Is it true," Nina's interest was piqued, which briefly pulled her out of her sulk.

"No, it's complete bogus..."

Nina sensed there was more he wasn't telling her so she just stared at him pointedly.

"It's actually Richard Dean Anderson," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, Luke! Really?" Nina gave him an exasperated look.

"He wouldn't sign my MacGyver collectible..." Luke brushed off her remark with an angry wave of his hand. "And you're missing the point."

"So enlighten me..."

"The point is that rumors are stupid and that they'll pass eventually," he told her in a sympathetic voice.

Nina started to reply but was interrupted by the sound of an incoming message on her computer.

RichardWWE: Nina, we need to talk. It's urgent. Meet me at my office ASAP.

Her eyes flitted over the screen. This was bad. Very bad! She ran her hand through her hair, her fingernails scratching over her scalp.

"What's going on?" Luke asked in a preoccupied tone of voice.

"Dickson wants to talk to me," Nina sighed, already getting out of her chair. Luke took a sharp breath, his eyes growing huge in concern.

"Maybe it's nothing," he tried to reassure her.

"Famous last words...," she threw him a bitter smile before she disappeared through the door.

On the way to Dickson's office she kept worrying about what it was that needed discussing so urgently. Was it too much to ask for that it wasn't about that stupid rumor?

Just as soon as she entered his office, however, there was no doubt in her mind that indeed her alleged affair with Stephen was the reason for this urgent meeting.

Dickson kept traipsing around the subject that was hovering between the like the proverbial elephant in the room. Nina finally snapped, unable to take it anymore.

"Why don't you just come out and say it? I assume this is about the latest water cooler gossip," she positioned both her hands on the shiny surface of his desk and threw him a challenging look. He was sitting, she was standing, since she had refused to take a seat at the beginning of this awkward conversation.

"Yes," he hesitantly admitted. "This is a rather unpleasant situation. We usually don't discuss our employees' private lives..."

"Then I don't see why you should start doing it now...," she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I have to, Nina. You leave me no other choice," he told her somewhat regretfully.

"I'm leaving you no other choice?" she ran her hand through her hair. "So you actually believe that crap?"

"Nina," he started, "Miss Stewart," he corrected himself. The fact that he resorted to addressing her with her last name was a clear indication that she was in deep, deep trouble. "Miss Stewart," Dickson started anew after a brief coughing fit, "you are aware that there are no office regulations that forbid the employees of the WWE to interact with each other on a more... private level. But given your position, I would like to point out that this behavior is highly inappropriate and could have severe consequences for your future with the WWE," he finished, unable to meet her eyes.

She took a deep breath, partly to calm herself, partly to formulate a plan of action in her head. Suddenly standing didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. She sat down in the chair behind her.

For a few moments she stared at the tiny bonsai tree standing in front of her on the corner Dickson's desk. It's leafs were neatly trimmed and had a healthy shimmering green color.

She didn't know what to say. Nina ran her hands over her face. Being at a loss for words was a new experience for her.

At this point diplomacy was futile. She was too overwhelmed for anything other than bluntness. So she just went with that. "Stephen and I are not having an affair," she looked her superior directly in the eyes when she said that.

Dickson met her stare unblinkingly. After what seemed like an eternity he finally nodded. "Good, I believe you."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"But," he held up his index finger to admonish her, "you better watch your step from now on."

* * *

"So where do you want to meet up to talk shop?" Stephen's question was still echoing in her ears long after he had posed it.

"Hello?" he asked into the cellphone after he didn't get an answer straight away.

"Yeah, I'm still there," she answered distractedly. After what had happened at work today, she had trouble interacting with him like she usually did. Since everybody had been so ready to believe that her and Stephen were having an affair, she couldn't help but wonder whether it had been something she had said or done that might have helped the rumor gain credibility.

"Sorry, I have no idea. I'm new in town, remember?" she finally said. "Why don't you suggest something?"

"You want me to pick?" she heard him smirk over the line. "You know I actually like that..."

Perhaps in retrospect she shouldn't have let him do the picking. Because that was what had gotten her here in the first place. She was standing in front of one of the entrances of Stamford Park stepping from one foot to the other.

'A walk in the park' was at best a figure of speech she used, but she rarely took walks. She just wasn't the type. Usually walking was too slow for her. But if he wanted to meet her here, she would humor him. It did seem a nice enough place.

She spotted him long before he saw her. It was bordering on impossible not to, thanks to his seize and muscular build. As usual when off duty, he was wearing some dark slacks, a shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and a flat cap. He sure did love his caps.

When he came to stop in front of her, it was impossible not to smile back at him. His smiles were infectious, especially that up close. "Hi!" he said simply, briefly giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"Hi," she responded, her smile fading from her face. The events of yesterday were still fresh on her mind and even despite her usual rather sunny and carefree disposition she found it hard to smile and pretend like nothing had happened.

"So, let's walk," she suggested somewhat stiffly. He nodded. They started walking, the gravel crunching rhythmically underneath their feet.

"You alright, luv?" he asked after only a few meters, his blue eyes regarding her pensively from underneath the brim of his hat.

She hesitated to answer. They worked together. He treated her as an equal and maybe on paper she was. But how much of an equal was she really, considering that his head graced a lot of those flashy promotional posters back at the office? She shook her head. If he hadn't already heard, there was no reason to get him involved in this mess. "Just a little squabble with a colleague. No biggie."

His eyes narrowed. He was not buying it, but he nodded nevertheless, accepting that that was all the information he was going to get out of her for now.

"So your idea...?" he suggested.

Upon his question a little of her usual rather energetic and talkative personality was sparked into life. He was relieved because he had come to appreciate those qualities of hers.

"With Extreme Rules coming, I've been thinking how about we bring vintage Sheamus back? A bit more temper, a bit more of that good old-fashioned ass kicking and taking names, a bit more fun."

"What precisely do you have in mind?"

"Well, the Shield is off-limits right now. They try to build them up as those invincible super heroes and there's no chance in hell the higher-ups are going to allow them to have their asses kicked. I was thinking chubby and strong. As in Mark Henry..." she clarified. Nina was looking at him, trying to guess his reaction before it showed on his face.

He smiled and motioned her to continue with a hand gesture.

"And I was also thinking we could create some mayhem backstage. What do you think about pulling some pranks?" There was a sparkle in his eye that told her that he rather liked her idea.

"Alone?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I think you'd do better with an accomplice. How about Mizanin? I'm sure he's up for it."

Stephen stopped walking to look at her. He was tugging at his earlobe with his right hand. It was probably some habit he had picked up. The express on his face was pensive. He finally nodded. "I like it."

On a normal day Nina would have punched the air with her fist in triumph, but today she limited herself to a forced smile and demure "good".

Stephen threw her an odd look, but she just shook her head. He already had his index finger raised and looked about ready to butt in, but she wouldn't let him. Before he was even able to comment on the fact that something about her behavior was slightly off, she started talking again. "I first wanted to run this idea by you before tried to pitch it to Dickson."

"Isn't it usually the other way around? Not that I'm particularly sorry you chose to do things the other way around..."

She just shrugged her shoulder. No joke, no smile, no nothing. She was like a cold fish.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. It was a reflex. Her eyes fell on his hand which still rested on her shoulder. From there they wandered up to his face and met his gaze with a mixture of irritation and annoyance.

"What?"

"You're acting weird. Is anything wrong? Can I do..."

"No," she interrupted him. He withdrew his hand from her shoulder and frowned. The expression on her face softened somewhat. He suddenly noticed how tired she looked. Tired and kind of sad. "There's nothing you can do, Steve, nothing at all." Was that dejection in her voice?

"Come on, spill!" he told her. There was something compelling about the way this big Irishman was standing in front of her, looking perfectly lamb-like while he regarded her with a pleading look in his eyes.

He could probably read her rather well now that she had given up pretending everything was okay, because he insisted a second time. "Nina..."

"Okay, okay," she finally relented, immediately regretting it. She was torn between telling him everything and trying to lie to him. But what if he would be confronted with those nasty rumors on the road? If she didn't tell him now, would he later hate her for it? Would her silence have any repercussion on their... Her thoughts came to creaking halt. What was this sentence going to finish like? Friendship? Work relationship? If she was honest with herself, she liked him far too much already to see him as just someone she worked with.

He indicated a little bench to their right which was one of many benches arranged around an idyllic large pond. They sat down. She stared at the water surface for a while, unsure how and where to start.

"Since Wrestlemania there's been a rumor going round the office about you and me," she threw him a cautious sidelong glance. Was that temper of his just scripted or was he really that much of a hothead?

"What's it say?" he asked. She focused on his face, so she didn't see his hands balling to fists at his sides.

"Well...," she chuckled and rubbed the back of her head, "Erm... It's not easy to put into words."

"Come on, luv, just spit it out already...," he said impatiently.

"Okay," cue nervous laughter. "It basically says...," she took a deep breath, then pressed out the whole message in what little time it took to release it. "Well, it says we were screwing like bunnies in the men's." By the time she had said those words she was beet-red thanks to her embarrassment. She couldn't even meet his eyes. Perhaps in hindsight that wasn't so bad after all.

She turned her head in astonishment when he shot up from his seat next to her and walked the few steps to where a steel railing surrounded the pond. Nina watched him with huge eyes as he stood there facing away from her. From her sitting position, all she could see was his tense back, rising and falling quickly. She got up and tentatively approached him. The knuckles of his hands were white because he was holding the railing in a vice-like grip. He was mumbling something underneath his breath. Was that Gaelic? She assumed whatever he was saying wasn't very nice.

"Hey," she said almost timidly. His eyes were furious and there was a slight reddish tint coloring his face. "Are you okay? Are you mad at me?"

He blew out a breath looking out on the pond for a couple of seconds before he leaned his weight on his arms and stared down at the pavement for a moment. "No," he pressed out. "Just fucking pissed off with whoever started that bloody rumor. Like I'm contemplating throwing that bloody bench into that bloody pond."

"Wow! Sure you're not going to Hulk out or anything?"

He turned his head regarding her through narrowed eyes for a second like he was trying to make sure she really had just said that. On the upside, his surprise let him forget some of his anger.

"No, I'm not going to Hulk out," he said.

"Good," she nodded and leaned against the railing next to him.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked after a while, finally trusting in his ability again to get out actual words without resorting to growling and swearing every other second.

She grinned. That grin was rather bitter. It implied she had already given that particular question quite some thought and had come out of that thought process with a negative conclusion. "I appreciate you wanting to help me, honey, but seriously? I have to handle this myself. As sorry as I am to say this, but despite the fact that we live in a modern day and age, this is still a man's world. When a man sleeps with a woman, even just allegedly so, he gets a congratulatory pat on the back for it. A woman, however, who does the same thing is called a slut."

"So you're going to just roll over and take it?" he asked incredulously.

When she turned her head to look at him, there was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. It was the first time he saw her angry and there was something mesmerizing about it.

"Roll over?" she scoffed. "Certainly not. I know who started this rumor and I have every intention of getting back at this person the one and only way I think will work. Every time we'll go into that conference room together and try to sell an idea to Dickson, I'll just try to be better, smarter and faster. Nothing hurts more than being upstaged by someone you despise and trust me, I won't play nice anymore. No more diplomacy, no more modesty, no more respect. I've learned my lesson. This is a tough business, so it's time the gloves come off."

She had not even stopped talking to take a breath. Her thoughts had tumbled out of her mouth in one angry, seamless tirade. Now her chest was rising and falling in rapid intervals.

Strangely enough by the time she was finished with her little speech, he had his own temper back under control. In fact he was calm enough to even dare smile at her.

Nina shot him a perplexed look.

"For a second there I was expecting you to beat your chest and roar fella. Sure you don't wanna tour Europe instead of me?" his mouth was set in a crooked smile.

She watched him, trying to figure out whether his comment was meant to insult her or tease her. As always it was his smile that won her over and convinced her of his good intentions.

"Oh, hell! Scoot over, you lug," she told him in a disgruntled voice and pointed at a family of ducks, gliding over the calm surface of the pond towards them, "I wanna have a closer look at them." She bumped the side of her hips against his to gently maneuver him out of the way. He complied with a smile and briefly took off his hat to run his hands through his messy hair. For a while they just stood there, watching the ducks paddle around in the water in front of them.

She turned her head and regarded his profile. It wasn't long before he noticed her watching. "What?" he asked.

"It's strange. I didn't think I would like you that much," she blurted out.

As often the case, her bluntness took him by surprise, nevertheless it wasn't an unpleasant surprise. "Well, you're quite alright yourself," he smirked.

"Oh, shut it, Farrelly! You completely adore me," she told him and turned around to lean with her back against the railing, bending back her head a little to allow the sunshine to fall on her face. She felt much better now that she had talked to him about it. Perhaps it hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

"Yeah, you got me there, luv," she heard him say and opened one eye to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You sure you can bury the hatchet and let me handle things my way?"

"It sort of undermines me whole Celtic Warrior image, but yeah... At least tell me this much, is it a him or a her?"

"Sorry, not gonna happen."

"Well," he shrugged, "it feels like it's a him. Anyway, if I found him out, I'd drag him up to the roof of the WWE, grab him by the leg and let him dangle over the edge..."

"Oooh, nice image! Splat!" she let out a dry chuckle. "The WWE has excellent lawyers, but I'm not sure you'd get away with it."

He made a harrumphing sound to acknowledge her words.

After that silence once more settled upon them. It was nice not having to talk for a while.

"As to your idea of me touring Europe instead of you... We could dye my hair red. I could try to fake your accent, but I guess, even despite all that, your fans would loathe me. I'd probably do okay with the mike work, but there's no chance in hell I'd be able to compete in a match. What was that gesture again you always make during your entrance? You beat your chest and yell 'fella'? Not gonna happen..."

He grinned and struck the pose minus the loud yell.

"Aha. I see," she said with a crooked grin on her face. "Nice."

"You're not going to try?" he look at her expectantly.

"Not a chance," she shook her head and laughed. "I can do a decent Randy Orton impression, though."

She winked at him and tried to channel her inner Apex Predator. Her face was all serious as she climbed the bench to strike Randy's trademark pose. She nailed it on the first try.

"You little shit!" he called out. "Admit it. You've practiced that at home."

She grinned a toothy grin at him. "Maybe..." She hopped down from the bench.

"Well, this is fun," Nina announced when she was standing right in front of him again. "Do you know any other poses? I could try to guess who they belong to..." She was back to being energetic and bouncy again, which made him smile.

The fact that she had somehow managed to reclaim her good mood was the reason why he chose to play along. He held up his index finger, telling her to wait as he stroked his beard pensively. "Alright, I've got one. I'll even go easy on you."

He grinned and stretched out his arms in an arrogant pose, then moved them up and down several times while coming closer with a maniacal grin on his face. He stopped a couple of feet from her.

"So?" Stephen asked expectantly.

"Kane?" she grinned, clearly pulling his leg.

"Me arse and Katty Barry! Me impression of him wasn't that bad!" he called out in indignation.

"What? Katy Perry?" she started laughing, clearly not getting what he had actually wanted to say. "What was that first part? Can you repeat that? It was kind of cute..."

"No," Stephen crossed his arms over his chest. "It means something like 'yeah sure'," he clarified, already slightly disgruntled because he didn't like being laughed at.

She pinched his cheek. "There, there, Stevie, don't get your knickers in a twist." During her time in London she had, among a constant craving for fish and chips, picked up the ability to fake a convincing British accent.

He swatted her hand away with an evil smile. "I told you not to call me that..."

"Tough. So what are you going to do now, huh?" She stuck out her chin and straightened her back to appear taller which was pretty useless considering he was at least towering her by one foot.

"Oh, I don't know," he inspected his fingernails. "What about this idea? I'm going to toss you in the pond...," he smiled at her before he stretched out his hands to reach for her.

She let out a high-pitched squeal and retreated. Of course he followed. They were both laughing, but froze in surprise when they heard the complaining voice of an elderly woman sitting a few benches away from them. "Will you kids behave yourselves? This is a public place and not some kind of fun house!" she berated them.

"Sorry, Ma'am," Stephen said and tapped the brim of his cap in a gesture of deference. It also helped that he had an Irish accent, which most people found positively delightful and was smiling a particularly charming smile at the old lady. Nina rolled her eyes.

Of course turning on his full charm had the desire effect. Her equally sincere "Sorry, Ma'am" was disregarded by the elderly woman who was busy smiling a dreamy smile at Stephen.

"That's quite alright, dear," she cooed.

Before the old lady decided to join the Celtic Warrior fan club and strike up a conversation with them, she started dragging him off by the sleeve of his shirt. "Come on, Casanova. Let's go."

"Casanova? I was just trying to keep you out of trouble," he complained.

"Keep me out of trouble? Between the two of us who is the troublemaker, buster? Me or you?"

"Do I actually have to answer that? Not gonna happen. You won't fool me a second time. This is one of your trick questions. I'm just going to pretend like I didn't hear it."

"Smart move, fella."

He chuckled when he heard her integrate one of his typical expressions in her vocabulary.

They started walking again, following a path that led them around the pond.

"It was del Rio, right?" she asked after a while.

He looked at her, his eyes hidden in the shadow of the brim of his hat. "Ha! I knew you'd be able to tell."

"Yeah," she smiled. There was a brief silence.

"Do you think the Miz is the right choice for our little prank war?" she asked suddenly. Conversations with her were often erratic, but also rather entertaining because you had to be on your toes.

He blinked, but that was just as much time as it took him to follow her line of thought. "I think he'd be offended if we didn't involve him. Speaking of pranks what did you have in mind?"

She grinned. "Not gonna tell you yet. I'll mail you my ideas when you're on the road. That way you can have a good laugh when you're stuck waiting for a plane or something..."

He nodded. They had rounded the pond and were walking towards the exit. Outside the gates they stopped. This was goodbye. She held out her hand to him. He looked down at it with a grin, his own hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Nah, but your mitts away," he smirked.

She shrugged her shoulders, unable to understand what he wanted. "Alright, so no handshake. Goodbye then! And good luck in Europe!" she told him sort of snappishly and waved her hand at him since he wouldn't shake it. "And kick some ass," added for good measure. Her sour tone belied the friendliness of her words.

Still all she got was a pointed look. "Are you serious, Nina?" He finally asked her.

"About what?" It was starting to dawn on her what he meant. He wanted a hug. She wanted to hug him as well. It would have been the most natural thing to do, but unfortunately, thanks to the happenings of the last couple of days, she still had some trouble acting naturally around him.

They continued to stand in front of each other. As seconds grew into a full minute, it dawned on her that he was about as stubborn as a mule if not as stubborn as a whole stable full of them.

"Are we friends?" he finally asked, apparently taking a leaf out of her book when it came to bluntness.

She looked at him for a long time. "Can we be?" she asked after a while.

"Is there anything that speaks against it?" he threw her a challenging look.

"Well... erm... I've already told you I like you..., but you see, it's just not a very good idea for us to be friends."

"It's not a good idea for us to be friends?" he echoed, unable to believe his own ears. "Why?"

"What about those rumors?" she pointed out. "I can't afford to lose my job and I don't want to give them any extra ammunition."

"So you're going to let others dictate the way you live your life?" Stephen asked.

Nina looked down at her feet for a while. She used that time to think their situation through. "No," she said finally, raising her head again to meet his gaze. "No, I just said it wasn't a good idea, not that it would actually hinder me from being your friend," she smiled. Adverse situations were usually something she thrived from.

He smiled back.

"At work they might be able to tell me what to do, but not in my free time. As long as I do what I'm paid for, they can't fire me. We can be friends, but let's not rub it in their faces," she told him.

"Why not?" he asked defiantly.

"Because they are like a punch of immature, hormone driven, gossiping fishmongers?" she supplied.

He rubbed his chin and grinned. "I guess you're right."

"Of course. I always am. You'd better get used to that," she quipped back. "Come on, let's walk over to our cars." She linked her arm through his and they started walking.

He smiled as they stopped in front of her little red Mini Cooper. If he had had to pick one car from the whole parking lot for her, it would have been that precise one.

"So how long are you going to be on tour?" she asked rummaging in her bag for her car keys.

He was leaning against her car, one arm on the roof, his fingers tapping a rhythm of their own against the metal as he watched her riffle through her belongings with an amused look on his face. "About a fortnight."

"A new place every other day?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It is."

"Hmmm," she looked up at him. "Get me a nice souvenir and, more importantly, let me know how you're doing once in a while. Okay, Steve?"

"Yes, ma'," he told her with a mock exasperate eye roll.

She finally produced her car keys from her bag and opened the door. Nina set one foot inside the car and used the door like a step to bridge their height difference. She slung her arms around his neck. For a moment he was surprised by her spontaneous gesture and the genuine warmth and affection her hug transported, then he hugged her back.

"Stay safe, okay?" she said as she let go off him.

He nodded. "You too," he said before he started walking away. His pace was slow, because quite surprisingly he was sort of reluctant to leave her.

"Hey Steve," he heard her call out and turned around.

Nina hit her chest with her fists and then spread her arms out at her sides. "Fellaaaa!" she called out, her voice resounding loudly over the parking lot. A couple of birds took flight from the nearby tree crowns while letting out croaks of protest.

He laughed. She smiled back at him and waved.


	7. Newsflash! Stuart Is Doctor Love

**Author's note**: _Thank you UntilNeverDawns and all of you guys following and favouriting. It makes me write faster. Actually I'm having a blast writing this story. Hope you're having as much fun as I do. You could always tell me, you know... _;-)

* * *

Nina sat there staring out of the window, watching as the rain poured down on the city. She was nursing a bottle of beer. The apartment was completely silent. The TV was off, her i Phone on mute. From the kitchen she heard the quiet, but persistent hum of the refrigerator.

She was in trouble, in big trouble. She had realized her predicament only minutes ago and she was still reeling from the shock. During the last couple of days she had been distracted more and more often, her thoughts had strayed and wandered off whenever she didn't pay attention. They had always taken one single direction. It became a little tiresome having to admonish herself continuously to focus. At first she had thought it was some weird fixation, some stupid obsession over a fond memory. Imagine her surprise when she had finally put two and two together and come to realize she was about to develop a honest to God crush on him. That stupid Irishman, with his stupid smiles and his stupid sense of humor!

She drank from the bottle, trying not only to swallow down the cold liquid, but also her frustration. There was no denying it. If she took back a step and rationally analyzed her own behavior with however much rationality she still possessed, her predicament became quite clear to her. Her heart did a little joyful jump every time he sent a message and it started beating rather fast whenever he gave her a quick call to say 'hello' or tell her how his day was. Nina shook her head. This was unacceptable and definitely the last thing she needed right now.

Perhaps it wouldn't have happened if she had stopped living like a hermit or a cloistered sister at some point and concentrated on something other than her job from time to time. She needed to nip this in the butt and do something about it before this went any further.

With a sigh she grabbed her cellphone and dialed her parent's number. "Mom? Hi!" she said a little to brightly at the beginning of the call, realizing too late that that was already enough to make her mother's oversensitive spidey sense tingle.

"Anything wrong, honey?" came the immediate question from the other end of the line. Her mom's ability to sense her distress was simply uncanny.

"No, I'm fine," she lied ineptly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mom? Do you remember how you wanted to introduce me to your neighbor? The young single doctor who moved in last month?"

"Yes...," she could hear the eagerness in her mom's voice and under normal circumstances she would have dreaded it, this time, however, it left her unfazed.

"How about I come over to your house this weekend and you introduce me to him?"

"Are you serious, sweetie?" her mother asked, unable to believe her daughter had willingly suggested to do something she had fought tooth and claw to avoid in the last couple of weeks.

"Dead serious, Mom," Nina confirmed.

They proceed to make plans for the coming weekend and Nina finally ended the call with the profound feeling of actually having accomplished something. It was Thursday evening already and ere she knew it, the weekend rolled by and she was slowly driving down her parent's street. The part of Hartford they lived in gave off the surreal vibe of perfection with its white picket fences and freshly mowed lawns. It made Nina sometimes wonder how she had managed to survive passing her entire childhood here without turning into a Stepford wife.

She parked behind her dad's station-wagon and got out of her car. The sound of her car door closing alerted her parents to her presence. Her dad stormed out of the house to help her with her bag. As always her mother and father seemed to be competing over who would reach her first. This time he had won and he threw her a triumphant grin as he approached, crossing the green lawn in huge energetic strides. He took the duffel bag out of her hands, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. Despite his advancing years he was still in quite a good shape, probably because he had been a sports fanatic all his life. Every morning precisely at 8 he went for a jog, come what may. Rain, snow, heat? The weather didn't seem to faze him.

Her mother was standing outside the door waiting for her. "What have you done to your hair?" she exclaimed instead of a greeting. After the mandatory welcome hug, she ruffled her daughter's short platinum blonde hair. Much to Nina's dismay one might add, because she messed it up in the process.

Before Nina could roll her eyes or start to protest, her father decided to interfere to de-escalate the situation. "Well, I like it. Makes you look like Charlize Theron, Nini," he said from behind her with a grin.

He was the only one except for her brother who was allowed to call her that. Her brother Tim, being four years her junior, had had trouble pronouncing her name as a little toddler and had dubbed her Nini. That nickname had stuck. No matter if she was eight or thirty, to her father and younger brother she would always be Nini. She turned around to smile at him. "Charlize Theron? I wish. Maybe back when she won her Oscar for Monster..."

Her father laughed and even her mother chuckled softly. Crisis avoided. They entered the house together.

A pleasant smell was coming from the kitchen and let Nina's mouth water. "What are you cooking, Mom? Smells really good." Quite inevitably the Rock's catch phrase popped in her head and she stuffed it back into her subconscious were it belonged. Now was not the time.

"Pork roast. You want to head up and freshen up a bit before Donald comes over in an hour?" Her mother told her with a smile.

"His name is Donald?" Nina asked incredulously, ignoring her mom's question. "As in Donald Duck?" Instead of heading upstairs where her room and the bathroom were located, she started walking to the kitchen. After two hours on the road with the air conditioning running all the time, she was rather thirsty.

She opened the fridge, hesitating to grab one of the bottles of beer her father stored in there. "Dad, is it okay if I grab one of your beers?" she called out, raising her voice.

The answer came from right next to her and startled her a bit. "Sure."

Nina jumped a little, but also had to chuckle despite herself. She reached for one of cold glass bottles. "You want one as well?" she asked.

"Yeah, why not?" he agreed and she pulled a second bottle from the fridge. In the meantime her father had already produced two glasses and coasters from the kitchen cupboard. Her mother didn't like it when they drank their beer straight from the bottle, so for the sake of peace they humored her.

As she was leaning against the kitchen counter, Nina took in the various pots and pans emitting steam and bubbling sounds for the first time. "Oh my God! Mom, are you sure you don't need my help?" she asked, stepping away from the counter, ready to jump into action.

"No, it's okay, honey," her mom told her stirring the sauce inside a pot next to her with the patience and calm of a saint.

"Okaaay," Nina replied, her tone of voice giving away her skepticism. "Mom? How long have you been busy fixing dinner anyway?"

Her father gave her a little toast with his bottle and quickly muttered something like "Here it comes," with a look of resignation on his face.

"3 hours."

"3 hours?! Oh, Mom!" Nina exclaimed, unable to believe her ears. "All of this over a guy named Donald?" She went over to her and laid her arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind. "You really shouldn't have... I mean I appreciate it, but what if we don't click? Don't get your hopes up too high, okay?"

Her mother gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. Nina finally released her from the hug, but let her left hand rest on her shoulder.

"Don't be such a pessimist, Nina. Have you ever stopped to think what will happen if you do click?" she asked, looking at her daughter from over her shoulder.

Nina shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there..."

"Will you at least change into another top? I don't think he'll enjoy looking at your faded Metallica shirt from ten years ago all night. And neither will I, on that note."

"Okay, Mom," she agreed with the mandatory eye roll. Despite being officially an adult, as soon as she came home again, the old child-parent-dynamic set in between her and her mother.

Half an hour later the door bell rang and she was finally introduced to Donald Reynolds, or Donnie as he liked to call himself. Her parents quickly invented some excuses to be off and leave the two of them alone. So there they were now, standing awkwardly in the hall trying to make conversation. Donnie was handsome from an objective point of view. His skin was slightly tanned, his teeth were pearly white, he was after all a dentist, he was tall and well-built. But unfortunately they were off to a bad start immediately.

"So what do you do for a living?" Donnie asked eventually.

"I'm a writer for the WWE," she answered.

"The WWE?" Heavens, she really needed to explain to him what the WWE was?

"As in World Wrestling Entertaining," she explained patiently.

"Wrestling? Really? How did a girl as beautiful and apparently smart as you end up in a job like that?"

For some reason the question that was originally meant as a compliment upset her. True, when she had first applied for a position with the WWE, it had been because she needed a job to pay the rent. Before that she had written for a daily soap and the job had frustrated her endlessly, so she had eventually quit. After that she had hit a dry spell. Her new job had saved her ass. Eventually it had given her new purpose. It was fun and apart from one notable exception, the people she worked with were mostly nice. So yes, she took offense at the question.

"Sorry, to disappoint, but I do kind of like my job. And contrary to common belief, people working in that industry are actually mostly intelligent and well-mannered."

He smiled. His smile was sort of practiced and artificial and didn't quite reach his eyes. Also it had a somewhat condescending vibe to it. Inevitably her thoughts drifted off to Stephen. Stephen whose smiles were genuine and infectious and always managed to cheer her up.

He ripped her out of those thoughts with his next words. She didn't know whether to be glad about it or angry. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just surprised. Your Mom told me you were a lecturer at university for a while..."

She smiled thinly. "That was a past life. The job didn't really suit me." She decided she had had enough of standing around in the hall and motioned him to follow her to the dining room.

"I sense an interesting story there," he said, probably expecting her to tell him more. But he was wrong about that. It was not a story she told to any random stranger, because it was far too personal.

"Not much to tell." Nina just shrugged her shoulders and forced a smile on her face. When her dad made an impromptu appearance inside the dining room, she was more than glad. Conversation with Donald was difficult. It got easier though when someone else was around.

"Would you like something to drink?" her dad asked Donald. "We've got white wine, beer, soft drinks..."

"White wine," Donald replied with a smile and her father left the room again to get the wine. They were alone again. Unbeknownst to him, Donald had already made another mistake in her book. He had taken the wine instead of the soft drink or the beer. It occurred to her, as she was mentally deducting another point from Donald's likeability scale, that she was perhaps being a little bit too hard on the guy. After all this was perhaps her one and only chance to not succumb to the temptation of falling for a certain Irish guy that she had told herself was off-limits.

Her eyes fell on the table that was not only set rather accurately, but also decorated with flowers. Her mom needed to get a hobby other than trying to set her up with wealthy, good-looking, cultured guys. She let out a long suffering sigh. "I don't know about you, but I'm almost afraid to sit down at that table. Everything looks like it has come straight out of a decorating magazine. I can remember how scared my friends were to touch anything around here when I was little. Far too sterile, not a trace of dust."

"It just shows your mother is a perfectionist. I can't find anything wrong with that."

She gave him a long appraising look. "I get how one can strive for perfection, but we all should cut ourselves a little slack from time to time. No one's perfect. We're all flawed and mess up. That's just life."

He raised an eyebrow. Apparently he was fascinated with her, because there was a small smile spreading on his face. "What a pleasant surprise this conversation's turning out to be. From interior decoration to philosophy."

"Philosophy?" her father asked, catching the last word of Donnie's sentence as he came back in through the door. They sat down around the table. Her father poured the drinks. Wine for Donnie and her mother and beer for her and her dad. He was all sneaky about drinking beer at such a beautifully laid table and Nina couldn't help but find it funny. He had filled their glasses back at the kitchen, so nobody would be any the wiser whether there was a soft drink in them or anything else.

Soon dinner was served and they started eating. Her mother ever so subtly tried to point out to them how many things they had in common. Donnie liked English literature. Nina liked it too. Donnie had attended the same university as her. How strange they had never met. Donnie loved London and what a coincidence, so did Nina.

After a while Nina, however had had enough of her mother's helpfulness and decided to take control of the conversation herself.

"So Donnie, what do you do in your free time?" she asked curiously. He reminded her of a Ken doll. He was all perfect. Didn't he ever do anything to unwind?

"I try to keep in shape. I enjoy the opera, the theater."

Nina wrinkled her nose.

"Anything wrong with that?" She could feel, not only Donnie's eye on her face, but also her mother's. They both seemed rather skeptical and tense, whereas her father appeared to be rather amused by the turn this conversation had taken.

"No, absolutely nothing. Once ever six months I get the urge to see a play as well and sometimes when I get bored with rock music, I listen to opera. We're totally on the same page here," her mother smiled approvingly, but her face fell upon her daughter's next words, "But don't you ever have any fun?"

"Fun?" he asked as if the concept was completely alien to him.

"Yes, have a blast, do something stupid... I don't know. Don't you ever do anything just because it makes you happy?"

Donnie leaned towards her, resting his forearms on the table. He spoke his next words with careful deliberation. "Happiness is a very difficult concept. And once you are an adult, how much of anything does really make you happy?" He gave her a meaningful look.

"Well, does your job make you happy?" she asked, digging deeper.

"It makes me happy in so far as it pays the bills and grants me to live a worry free life."

She looked at him for a while and then shook her head. This wouldn't do. No, it simply wouldn't. With her head shake she was not only rejecting the opinion he had just voiced, but also him. He was too up-tight for her and he was arrogant. Maybe that last evaluation was a little harsh, considering she had known him for roughly two hours, but there was something about him that didn't quite agree with her. There was no instant connection. They were two puzzle pieces that wouldn't fit.

She risked a peek at her cellphone she had not allowed herself to look at in hours for fear of further nurturing her little crush on Stephen. Part of the reason why she felt attracted to him was his humor. And the second thing she would never admit to publicly. The company of different people always had a different effect on her. In her father's presence she felt, for example, calmer and more able to act rationally, because he provided her with a certain stability. It was what he brought out of her. With Stephen around, she experienced a sense of security, of being accepted for who she was and most importantly of being liked because of who she was. It was rare you met someone like that. Most of the time life throws people at you that you need to adapt yourself to, in order to get along with them. With him that wasn't necessary. They simply clicked, would have been the easier, less convoluted way of putting it.

Her cellphone didn't disappoint her. Sure enough there was a message from him. "Will you excuse me for a second?" she asked Donald and her parents.

"Of course," he answered, thinking like the rest of the people present, that she needed to go to the bathroom.

Nina quickly left the room and ran upstairs. For a brief moment she took refuge inside her childhood room, leaning against its closed door. Her eyes took inventory of her surroundings that were familiar, but also by now odd to her. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to really look at this room. And now she did with the eyes of a stranger. Posters of various rock bands adorned the walls. There was a Mister Spock bobble head figure standing on her desk sort of forlornly. Science fiction and fantasy novels as well as comic books filled her book shelf... Testaments of her nerdiness. She sighed and lowered her eyes to the screen of her cellphone.

"Are you okay?" his message read.

"No," she typed back rather quickly. "My mom set me up on a date... It's horrible. Someone save me, please!"

She waited, but there was no immediate reply from him. Perhaps he was busy. She shook her head at her own idiocy and headed back down.

* * *

Stuart Bennett and Stephen Farrelly were sitting next to each other on a bench in the backstage area, sporting identical scowls.

Chris stopped in front of them. He inclined his head a little to regard the two men more closely. They were indeed wearing matching frowns on their faces.

While Stuart came across as rather sulky most of the time, he was in reality easy to get a long with. That particular piece of information often came as a shocking surprise to most people who didn't know him, because they often mistook his silence for hostility, whereas he was just being silent without having any negative intentions.

The fact that Stephen was sulking, however, was somewhat alarming. The Irishman usually displayed two moods: normal and pissed off. Sulky had not been part of his repertoire so far. Apparently he wanted to expand it. Considering the foul mood he was in, the rest of the world would probably be thankful if he didn't.

"What's up with you guys?" Chris asked.

Stuart looked at Stephen as if he expected him to answer, but the Irishman didn't show any inclination to respond. Chris' question remained unanswered, so he sat down between the two men.

"Hey, Stu, what's up with him?" Chris inquired, looking at the Brit with his eyebrows raised. His facial expression was an open invitation to start talking and Stuart was more than happy to oblige. He figured an ill-humored Irishman made for an unfocused Irishman. Being unfocused was a rather dangerous thing in their line of work. He rather not see anybody hurt.

"Her mum set her up on a date," the Brit explained with an added eye roll.

Chris didn't even have to ask who that mysterious 'she' was. Ever since they had embarked on their tour around Europe, Stephen had spent an unhealthy amount of time on his cellphone, mostly exchanging texts and emails with one particular person: Nina.

"Ooooooh! So that's what this is about...," Chris smirked.

For the first time since his arrival he managed to attract Stephen's attention and that wasn't a good thing because the Irishman was profoundly irritated. The angry sparkle in Stephen's eyes would have silenced a lesser man, but not so Chris.

"Man, that's bad. No wonder he's in a killer mood," Chris observed shrewdly. He chose to address Stuart instead of Stephen, because it seemed a safer alternative.

"Actually, it's not that bad. She gave to understand that it wasn't going too well..."

"What?!" Chris looked incredulously between the two men. "So why is he sulking?"

Stuart shrugged his shoulders. The insightfulness of his next words came as a deep shock to both Stephen and Chris. "I figure it has to be a combination of two things." He actually counted off those two things on his finger. "Number one: He's just realized he's head over heels for her. Number two: He's somewhat jealous of that other bloke."

The irritated Irishman next to them let out a string of curses, only half of them intelligible, since his anger made him slip into Gaelic inadvertently.

"Erm...," Chris coughed. "That seems to sum it up nicely." Perhaps they had underestimated the taciturn Brit before. Stuart's insightful evaluation of the situation was worthy of a psych major or a couples' therapist. He seemed to be a lot more observant than everyone gave him credit for.

"Thought so too," Stuart answered. Apparently he was satisfied with Chris' praise because there was one of those rare smirks on his face.

"Would you two eejits quit talking like I wasn't there?" Stephen hissed at them, for the first time acknowledging their presence verbally.

"Ooooh, so you're actually talking to us then?" Chris asked with a healthy dose of irony in his voice. "Have you already sent her a reply?"

Stephen's tough facade finally crumbled. As he ran his hands over his face, his profound helplessness in the face of this situation became apparent. "No. Hell if I know what to tell her..."

"Mostly things like 'go out with me' work," Chris suggested.

"I can't just write that," Stephen replied, the frustration in his voice clearly audible.

Stuart just let out a long suffering sigh before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Anything you want to say, fella?" Stephen fixed him with a disapproving glance that left Stuart unimpressed.

"Yeah, mate. Bloody grow a pair and text her back...," Stuart grumbled.

"Oh, really? You wanna repeat that?" Stephen scooted closer to Stuart which almost left Chris sandwiched between the two of them.

"Hey, buddy! That's close enough or do you wanna cuddle up to me? I'm not into that shit!" Chris exclaimed, physically pushing Stephen away. "Besides I think you've got better things to do right now than pick a fight with Stu. He's right. Text her back before she decides she likes that other guy after all..."

"All right! All right!" Stephen yelled a bit too loudly. "Will you bloody quit nagging?" He pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and for a second it looked like his anger would actually give him the energy to compose a response to Nina immediately, but the pulsating cursor of the texting app quickly humbled him and let his anger vanish. Worse yet, it was soon replaced by despair.

As he was staring down at his cellphone, he suddenly felt a hot breath fan against his shoulder and looked up in bewilderment. Stuart had scooted up to him to see what he was writing to Nina. And where the hell had Jericho gone? He soon spotted him standing to his right. He was leaning against the wall casually, exuding a vibe of arrogance and cockiness as he stole curious glances at the display of Stephen's cellphone.

"What the hell's gotten into you fellas? Have you suddenly turned into a bunch of bloody school girls?" Stephen glared at each of his friends.

Chris was about to open his mouth, doubtlessly with the intention of making another smart-ass comment, but Stuart effectively undermined all his attempts of wittiness with his next words.

"Shut your pie hole and start writing, Farrelly!"

Stephen and Chris stared at the Brit in shock. What followed next had both of them so dumbfounded that they would need several minutes to work through what had happened. Stuart had had enough of Stephen's indecisiveness. He ripped the cellphone out of Irishman's hand with a sound of disgust and quickly compose a text of his own.

It took him about 30 seconds to finish it and after he was done he threw back the cellphone to a completely gobsmacked Stephen with the words "Cheers, mate! Send me an invite to the wedding, will ya?"

Stephen's eyes flitted over the display of the cellphone with something akin to panic. "Stuart here: Just spent the better part of two hours with one sulking Irishmen. Go out with him when he gets back. He's got it bad for you," the message read.

His eyes grew large. He got up from his seat, about to roar an insult at Stuart, who regarded him with the unnerving calm of a Tibetan monk. Just seconds before he could unleash his temper on Stuart and possibly brogue-kick him all the way down the hallway, his cellphone let out a loud chirp.

His eyes landed on the display immediately. He smiled. He barely registered Stuart's cocky "I told you so", because he was too busy staring at her text.

It consisted of two letters and was rather monosyllabic compared to the massive amount of words she usually used to express herself. "OK," it read.

"Wow! What just happened here? Has Stuart just actually fixed you up with her?!" Chris asked incredulously.

"Aye, it would appear that's what's just happened." Stephen held out his cellphone to his friend to make his point. Chris let out a loud curse, unable to believe his eyes. Stuart stood up in the meantime and excused himself with the words "And that's how it's done, gentlemen".

* * *

She couldn't believe she had actually just agreed to go on a date with him. Whatever had happened being rational about this? This wasn't rational! This was a completely succumbing to temptation. She groaned and banged the back of her head against the headboard of her bed. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Another text arrived and she prayed it wasn't from him. If it was, it would probably give her a mild cardiac event. God seemed to be in a merciful mood tonight, because it was from Stuart. He sure was rather talkative today. Another sign of the coming apocalypse.

"Thank me later. He's been smiling like a school girl ever since he's read your text. You're on your own now. My matchmaking days are over."

In fact she hesitated to thank him just yet. What if this turned out as big as a disaster as she feared? What if they completely messed up their friendship and their work relationship? What if... she was too exhausted to further pursue that line of thought. Argh!

"OK," she wrote, becoming aware as she typed it that that apparently was her go-to word when she was in a panic. "Will try to remember that, Stuart. ;-) I'm impressed. You're a man of many talents."

The part in which Stuart had mentioned that Stephen was happy about her response only struck her now. Somehow she shied away from interpreting too much into that. Still it was a nice thought.

She picked up her phone once more. Her fingers hovered for a second over the display, then she finally started typing.

"Wow! So I guess we're going on a date then..." she wrote.

"Second thoughts?" his answer was immediate.

The question had her thinking. She finally shook her head. "No, very nervous, but no."

":-) Of course. You always are. Lay off the coffee until I'm back." She could just see him smile before her mind's eye as she read his words.

"Oh, Gee! Thanks, Steve. Brilliant advise. I can just see that cheeky grin of yours."

"That one?" He sent her a picture that showed him smiling and winking at her. In the background she could see some transport boxes and brick walls. He was backstage of one of those arenas they were touring. If she remembered correctly they were in Italy right now.

"Exactly that one," she smiled when she typed those words. After a brief moment of hesitation she added: "Looking good." She didn't give herself any time to feel self-conscious about that compliment and pressed the 'send-button' immediately.

"Thanks. How come you never send me any pictures?"

She chewed her lips thinking of an answer. "Because my life's pretty uneventful, I guess."

"For some reason I don't believe that's true...," came the immediate reply.

"It is, but if you want pictures, you'll get pictures." She got out of bed and opened her window. Outside was quiet suburbia. Directly underneath her window there was a tree, the neighbors had gone to bed, all the houses were dark. The starry sky was sparkling above the peaceful scenery. The street was illuminated by a couple of street lights and their soft glow. She took a deep breath. The air was cool and smelled like rain. She held up her cellphone and took a photo of the familiar view.

"Nighttime in suburbia," she commented the picture. "You can't see the white picket fence from that angle. ;-)"

"Lovely."

"Going back to sleep now."

"Back? Did I wake you?"

She smiled for once knowing precisely what to write. "Don't worry. Some things are worth waking up for."


	8. Arrhythmia

As the WWE's European tour slowly came to an end, Nina became more and more nervous. The far distance between them had created the illusion that it was safe daydreaming about the possibility of going out with him. Now that he would return in a couple of days, the fact that they had agreed to go on a date started to sink in more and more. She wasn't intimidated by the thought, just really really nervous.

She even checked the WWE's calendar to find out when he would be in the Stamford area the next time. In four weeks? Her eyes grew huge in wonder. How was she to survive four weeks in this dreadful state of uncertainty and anticipation?

Nina was not one to dwell and drive herself crazy over things like that, so she tried to keep herself busy. Since her hair was growing out she fixed herself an appointment with her hairdresser, she agreed to go and have dinner with Maria and the infamous Rodrigo on Friday night and even enrolled herself in a gym class - all for the sake of keeping busy and keeping her sanity. She was however losing grip on that sanity when he wrote her a message in which he more or less announced that he would hop on a plane and take a flight to Stamford next Saturday. The only thing left for her to do at this point was to ask him when to pick him up from the airport.

The rest of the week she was rather distracted. At work she managed to function comparatively well. She survived without any major mishaps, but once she was alone she started feeling those telltale butterflies in her stomach.

There was no denying that ever since he went to Europe something had shifted in their relationship. The shift was subtle and she was yet to work out how it would affect their way of interacting with each other as soon as they came face to face once more, but it was undeniably there and needed to be acknowledged.

Whatever reservations she had had were whisked away in an avalanche of texts, pictures, emails and phone calls. She could not help herself, she needed to respond to those cute little texts he sent her each morning even if they were just inanities like "Guten Morgen! I'm in Cologne. Fun town. Would be great to have you here as well..."

The message tone of her cellphone had become her closest and dearest friend in the last couple of days. It was like positive conditioning and kind of pathetic, but she didn't mind.

Finally Saturday afternoon had rolled around. Surprisingly she had managed to get to her destination without being involved in a spectacular car crash. It took her quite some time to find a parking space on the massive parking lot of LaGuardia airport, however. She and her trusted Mini Cooper were honked at and insulted several times. Already feeling slightly stressed out, she got out of her car. She ran her hand through her freshly colored hair, ruffling it a bit in the process. It was brown now, since she had decided to go back to her original color. She inspected herself in the side mirror of her car. She had reminded herself over and over again not to go over the top with her clothes and her make-up. This was just Stephen after all. He had already seen her in sweatpants and a worn out T-shirt and still wanted to go on a date with her, though this date thing had assumed new levels of seriousness when he had decided to fly in just for her. So basically "just Stephen" was the understatement of this still rather young century.

Anyway, she had tried to compromise by putting on everyday clothes, but making an extra effort with her make-up and hair without going overboard. Nina was wearing black skinny jeans and a dark red tank top, boots and her favorite leather jacket. She had chosen the last article of clothing because she needed something familiar and comfortable to hold on to, not because her old jacket looked especially nice with the rest of her outfit, which incidentally it kind of did by the way.

She sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she looked like she looked and there was nothing to be done about it now. It was time to go anyway. She grabbed a cardboard sign with a pink heart drawn on it from her backseat. The idea had sort of come to her on a whim and thanks to a glass of wine. As she briefly struggled with the sign, it had gotten stuck in the car door, she asked herself what had possessed her to make it in the first place. It was rather mushy and stupid after all. Then again airports and those signs sort of went together somehow. Perhaps her mushiness was forgivable when you looked at the bigger picture. A quick glance at her watch told her she needed to go, so she scurried away over the parking lot, in the direction of the main entrance that proudly announced "arrivals".

She had just breezed in through the door when her cellphone let out a loud beep. "Landed," it read. Compared with the last days that was a very practical sort of text. She chose not to answer this time. It seemed ridiculous now that they would see each other in only a couple of minutes.

She positioned herself on the other side of those automatic sliding doors that would soon reveal the arriving passengers. Her heart was beating rather fast and the amount of giddiness she felt was only comparable to the giddiness that had come over her shortly before senior prom, back when she was still a teen. This was ridiculous, embarrassing and sort of wonderful. She held up her sign with a grin. Her hands were trembling and her palms were sweaty, but she didn't mind.

The doors opened, people were streaming out and even though Stephen's tall, muscular frame was fairly noticeable, at first she couldn't seem to spot him among the mass of arriving travelers. There were simply too many of them – hugging family, kissing lovers... Kissing seemed to be a general theme at airports. He wouldn't kiss her, would he? She blushed. Again her eyes scanned the crowd nervously. And there he was. Their eyes met. He was only a few feet away from her. A smile broke out on her face and her heart started beating faster. It even skipped a beat when he smiled back at her. It was a real, genuine, am-I-glad-to-see-you-smile and rather dazzling. Then he was standing right in front of her. After days and days of talking to him on the phone, she had almost forgotten he was so tall and charming and handsome. Where the hell did all those sappy adjectives suddenly come from? But he was charming and handsome. Undeniably so. Why else would she suddenly feel so attracted to him? Her sudden foray into girlishness and the unexpected discovery that she found him to be handsome were quite overwhelming. She didn't know what do to, but luckily he seemed to have an idea. He stretched out his arms. He wanted to hug her. The cardboard sign slipped from her fingers, completely forgotten. Nina more or less jumped into his arms with a squeal and he lifted her up in the air. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. They had never been this close before. She could smell his cologne, which was sort of spicy and woodsy and rather nice and was suddenly emerged in his body warmth. Again there was that feeling of being completely unprepared for this experience. She was somewhere between panicking and enjoying it.

"Nicest sign I've happened upon in a good long while and I see quite a fair share of them. But did you really have to put this fecking nickname on it?" she heard his familiar voice say into her ear.

Banter was something she was confident she could do. It was what they always did. And it gave her a certain sense security. "What's not to like about a heart with your name in it?" she smiled at him cheekily as he let go of her. That smile sort of lost some of its initial cheek and acquired a rather dorky and dreamy quality when she again became aware of his close proximity.

"Yeah, it is cute alright. But next time don't write that horrible nickname on it. I hate being called Stevie...," he said with a lopsided grin as he picked up his duffle bag from the ground and she did the same with the sign.

"Come on, you can't tell me you didn't find it at least a bit funny..."

"Right. Maybe this funny..." He held up his index finger and thumb in front of her face to indicate the amount of funniness. The tips of his fingers were almost touching. She stuck out her tongue at him. "Besides," he continued unflinchingly, "you're lucky you brought the sign, I almost didn't recognize you because of the new hair color..." He was still grinning at her. Her smile, in turn, grew even larger when he laid an arm around her shoulders. It was a casual gesture between friends, but nevertheless it indicated a certain level of closeness and belonging.

"So you like it?" she looked up at him expectantly.

He made a face, pretending like he actually had to think about her question. He was sporting one of his typical flat caps again, she noticed now. The corners of her mouth twitched in silent amusement.

The fact that he hadn't said anything yet, left her less than amused, however. She lightly hit him in the side, not putting a lot of power behind the punch out of fear of hitting a spot that was already bruised.

"Europe hasn't become you, Farrelly. You've grown more cheeky if that's even possible. I'm not sure I approve," she admonished him, still smiling, which let the whole attempt of berating him seem rather halfhearted.

"Well, I approve of your hair," he said finally, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, shut up!" Nina muttered and looked down at the floor with something akin to shyness. A slight hue of pink was coloring the tips of her ears. She quickly recovered, however. "Come on. Let's move," she nudged him in the direction of the exit.

"Hungry?" she asked as they were walking.

With his right arm he was carrying his duffle bag, his other one was still resting around her shoulders.

"Yeah," he answered. "A bit peckish."

She smiled, for once limiting herself to finding that expression cute in the privacy of her own thoughts instead of commenting on it.

"What are you smiling about? Cause I said peckish?" Unfortunately he was rather quick on the uptake. She nodded.

"You know, we Irish tend to get a bit creative with saying we're hungry...," he informed her.

"Oooh. I sense another language lesson coming on...," she rolled her eyes in mock annoyance.

"Instead of peckish I could have said: 'I could eat the lamb o' Jayjus through the rungs of a chair.'"

"Seriously?" she chuckled. "Lovely imagery."

"How 'bout this one: 'I'd eat a farmer's arse through a blackthorn bush!'"

"Yuck! Even worse. I prefer peckish, I think."

They were by now standing in front of her Mini Cooper. She threw first her car, then him a speculative look. "Are you sure you're going to fit in there, big man?"

He just raised an eyebrow and tutted. She watched him open the trunk and stuff his duffle bag inside, while she twirled the car keys on her index finger. "Where are we going?" he asked as he closed the trunk.

"My place, if that's okay," she told him and got in the car. He nodded and got in as well. The first thing he did, however, was push the passenger seat back. Like way back.

She turned the key in the ignition and the motor sprang to life and with that also her sound system. The loud roar of Ken Casey's vocals, aggressive guitar riffs, drum beats and squeaking bagpipes filled the car.

"Woah!" Stephen turned down the stereo. "Getting in the mood, huh?" he laughed.

She threw him an admonishing sidelong glance before she took a right and drove off the parking lot. It would take them roughly an hour to drive all the way up to Stamford if the traffic played along. A long time to be listening to music you don't like. "You can put on something else if you want to," she quickly reached over and opened up the glove department in which she stored her CDs.

He nodded and grabbed the CD wallet without any hesitation. "So he doesn't like the Dropkick Murphys...," she concluded in her thoughts, but quickly had to revoke that judgment when he started singing along to the next song under his breath while he was leafing through her CD collection. She smiled. His voice was surprisingly pleasant. He was able to carry a tune, which was more than she could say for herself. Here and there his singing was interrupted by sounds of approval or disgust. When he had reached the end of the wallet, he snapped it shut and placed it back in the glove department.

She let out the breath she had been holding while he had been looking over her CDs. He smiled at her. "Did I make you nervous there, luv?"

She concentrated back on the road, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "Well, yeah. Looking through somebody's CD collection is something fairly personal after all..."

"Oh, really?" she could tell he was playing dumb on purpose. Out of the corners of her eyes she registered that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Really. Don't tell me you wouldn't have considered jumping out of the moving car if you had found a Celine Dion CD..."

"That's perhaps a bit drastic... I would have politely asked you to drop me off somewhere along the road, however...," he grinned. There was a brief silence between them which wasn't uncomfortable as such. "Well, you're free to go through my music collection any time, luv."

She threw him a brief glance. "Thanks. Very gracious of you. And I'll so take you up on that offer," she winked at him. He smiled back at her.

As always making conversation with him was easy. It made her forget that she had been rather nervous to begin with. That nervousness set in again, however, as soon as they got out of her car in front of her apartment.

Nina kept thinking about what a proper date entailed and of what might be expected of her. She wasn't sure she was ready for all of that. She needed some time to test the waters between them and get used to the idea of this being a date first.

They were now standing side by side as they waited for the elevator. She passed the time of that wait, mulling over her emotional conundrum and playing around with the keys to her apartment.

"Nina...," she turned her head to look at him. "What's with the frowny face?"

She gave him a confused look. He gently touched his hand to her forehead which was still set in a frown to make a point. "You've been frowning ever since we got out of car. What's up?"

There was something charming and appealing about the way he pronounced his 'u's. She smiled despite herself, but as she realized she still needed to answer his question, that smile suddenly disappeared. "It's just well... Erm... What did you think when I said we would have dinner over at my place?"

"Sounds great? I'm hungry?" he supplied.

"Because that's what I meant by it. No subtext," Nina clarified, looking down at the tips of her boots in embarrassment.

"Of course," he agreed.

The elevator arrived. And mercifully cut the awkward situation short. They got in. He noticed how she quickly pressed the button for her floor and then leaned against the wall next to the control panel with the air of someone who had done that a thousand times. It was sort of nice imaging her living here, coming home every night to the same place. It was something he didn't have.

Her voice brought him back to the here and now. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not very good at this whole dating thing. It would be easier if there was a manual or something...," she admitted in a slightly disgruntled voice.

He grinned and patted her shoulder. "I'm not that complicated. I promise you don't need a manual for me," he reassured her.

"I'm not convinced," she replied, but flashed him a smile nevertheless. They got out of the elevator and walked up to her apartment door.

"I'll convince you. I can be very convincing," he told her, buffing up his chest.

She turned to him with her keys in hand. Moments like this she just wanted to hug him. Instead of a hug she settled for the next best thing. "I'm really glad you're back," she blurted out. She didn't wait for his response. She wasn't sure she could handle it. Instead she turned around and unlocked the door.

"Me too," she heard him say. His voice sounded soft and there was an unfamiliar and tender ring to it. It made her feel something... Something she'd rather not acknowledge yet, so she entered her apartment and bid him to do the same with a hand gesture.

He stepped inside and placed his duffle bag next to the door. His eyes were roaming over her apartment curiously. The hallway led into the living room. The shelves there were stuffed with books and DVDs. There was a flat screen TV and a comfortable looking leather couch. The place didn't look very girlish. Instead of art prints on the wall, she had framed posters: vintage James Bond, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley. They seemed to meet his approval because he inspected them with a curious look and even took a step closer to look at them. She grinned and turned around to stalk off to the kitchen. "I'll take care of lunch," she called over her shoulder. "You make yourself right at home."

Most men would have taken that as an invitation to sit down on the couch and watch some TV, he followed her to the kitchen instead. She opened the fridge and got out the lasagne she had prepared this morning. All she had to do now, was put it into the oven and get the salad ready. Even she couldn't mess that up despite her nervousness.

"There's beer in the fridge," she told him as she was fumbling around with the buttons of the oven.

She heard the glass bottles in the fridge emit that telltale bell like sound when he opened the door and closed it. Two bottles were placed on the counter. One for him and one for her, she presumed. Next he surprised her by slinging his arms around her midriff. The pleasant sensation of sudden excitement overcame her and intensified when he briefly rested his chin on her naked shoulder. His beard tickled her skin, but it was soft and not at all unpleasant. She could see their reflection in the door of the oven. Something about the two of them together looked right. Perhaps it was his goofy grin that was matching hers. "You've got to be the cutest girl I've ever met..."

"Cause I let you have a bottle of beer before lunch?" she smirked. "Your standards are pretty low, hon'." Her voice quivered ever so slightly when she used that endearment. It was meant to tease him, but it ended up sounding like she really meant it. Also with every second they remained standing there like that, she became more and more aware of the body heat his hands were radiating through the fabric of her tank top. They were resting on her midriff. She looked down and saw them there, his pale fingers spread over her tummy.

"So do you always have a fridge full of Guinness?" His voice was close to her ear and his breath tickled her skin. She felt goosebumps run down her neck.

"No. Only when I'm planning on having you over for lunch," she smiled. "The bottle opener's in that drawer over there, by the way."

His hands stayed where they were.

"Steve, I don't know how you like your lasagne, but you're making it pretty hard for me to concentrate on anything except for you right now..."

"Really?" he asked, the apparent delight in his voice was rather hard to miss.

"Really," she nodded. "Not that I'm complaining, but I still have to feed you. This way we'll either end up with a piece of charcoal or with completely uncooked lasagne..."

He begrudgingly let go of her and she immediately regretted having said anything. She suddenly felt cold, though she knew for a fact that the temperature inside her apartment always was at a pleasant 68 degrees Fahrenheit.

Stephen got the bottle opener from the drawer and opened both beers, holding out one to her. He clinked his bottle against hers in a toast. "Here's to Stuart."

"To Stuart," she smiled and drank.

He was now leaning against the kitchen counter, which let her briefly debate how she was going to prepare the salad now. She scurried over to the fridge to produce all the necessary ingredients like tomatoes, lettuce, peppers and mushrooms. With a gentle nudge of her hip she maneuvered him out of the way.

"Need any help with that?" he asked her.

"Yes," she smiled and quickly produced a second kitchen knife and cutting board from nearby a drawer before he could take back his offer.

After having washed the ingredients, they stood there chopping away quietly. Suddenly her soft giggle broke the companionable silence.

He threw her a questioning look. "This is so not how I imagined it to go, but I rather like it," she clarified.

"Why?"

"Well," she put down the knife and looked at him. "This right here," the knife tip was first pointed at him then at her, "is obscenely domestic. And I rarely do domestic. But I'm surprisingly okay with it now."

"You don't do domestic? Does that mean bad things for our lasagne? Should I be worried about food poisoning?" he smirked while he chopped the green pepper in front of him into small pieces.

Almost automatically her fingers closed around an innocent little mushroom. She threw it at his head. It was rather small and bounced off his temple without doing any damage whatsoever.

He slowly turned his head to look at her. She had seen that look on his face before. A hint of flaring temper and a grin - that usually meant trouble. "Have you really just thrown a mushroom at me?"

"Hmmm," she looked down at her own cutting board as if she was contemplating his question. On one side there were peppers, on the other mushrooms. Mushroom or pepper? Difficult. She had acted on impulse. "I'd say yes, but that would have some dire consequences, huh?"

He nodded, laid down the knife and calmly cleaned off his hands on the kitchen towel that was lying next to him. To Nina's immense relief whatever cruel and unusual punishment he had designed for her would have to wait, because the oven timer went off in precisely that moment and saved her from his wrath.

They had a surprisingly peaceful and tasty lunch. During their little chat over two steaming plates of lasagne he gracefully worked in a couple of compliments for her cooking skills, which she soaked up like a sponge. She was rarely compliment on those kind of things, probably because she rarely prepared a meal for anyone other than herself.

"So what did you get me from your little trip to Europe?" She asked conversationally as she carried off their plates to the kitchen. He offered his help, but she turned it down, saying she had a rather nice dish washer to take care of the dirty dishes, which afforded him some time to produce the aforementioned souvenirs from his bag.

When she came back, he held two objects wrapped in simple brown paper under her nose. "This one first," he thrusted a slightly longish and oddly shaped parcel at her with a proud grin.

"Okay," she said with a shrug and started unwrapping it. From the rustling paper emerged something like a red feather which upon closer inspection turned out to be a feathered quill that came complete with a little ink well. She chuckled.

"I reckoned that since you are a writer, you should have all the instruments of the trade..." He was rubbing the back of his neck. Was he nervous?

"Nice thought," she praised him, trying to boost his ego a little.

"Yeah?" A grin lit up his face and almost tempted her to touch his cheek in a gesture of affection. She suppressed the impulse for now, because it took her by surprise and she didn't quite know what to make of it yet.

"What's in the other one?" she asked. She had always been rather curious, even as a child. Her parents always had to make sure that all her presents were hidden away properly before festivities like Christmases or birthdays. Her hands reached for the other parcel. It looked book shaped.

He handed it to her with a smile that was lacking the usual playfulness most of his smiles possessed. It made her pause and look at him for a second before she ripped through the paper. It was indeed a book: 'The Taming of the Shrew'. "Wonderful!" Nina let out a bark of laughter and hugged him. She got on her tiptoes and pulled him down to her. Without giving it much thought she pressed a kiss to his cheek, right above his whiskers.

"It's from London, right? You've been to the Globe, haven't you? That's the only place they have those editions. I always wanted to have one, but when I lived there I was short on money all the time. I barely had enough money to buy a ticket, let alone afford a souvenir. Of course you couldn't have known that or else you would be working as a fortune teller and not as a wrestler," she started rambling, clutching the book to her chest like a trophy. He took in her enthusiasm with a smile.

The positively impish look that turned up on her face shortly after, however, admonished him to stay on his toes. "That book title better not be an allusion or anything, Farrelly..."

"Never! Cross me heart!" The fact that he even made the gesture to accompany those words appeased her somewhat. That and the puppy dog expression on his face. Apparently he had that one down to scratch. It was rather effective.

"It just happens to be me favorite," he explained. "Back when we studied Shakespeare at school, me teacher forced me to read that one. I wasn't very big on reading, I'd rather play football with me mates. Good old, Ms O'Brian! The woman was scary like a demon bat straight out of hell..."

"So why is it your favorite?"

He rubbed his beard pensively. "I guess because Kate's a right little spitfire. I kind of like that."

She let out a hum of approval and once again hugged the book to her chest like a teddy bear.

"I'm going to put those things away and then we're going to go out," she informed him.

"Go out?" he asked in surprise. Going out was usually complicated. People tended to recognize him eventually. Especially in Stamford. Not that he was adverse to going out, but right now he wanted to focus on her and nobody else.

She returned. "Yes, go out. But not to worry, we're going to go to the last place anyone will be looking for you... How do you feel about mini golf?"

"Have you really just said mini golf? I must have misheard..." He gave her a funny look.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Hear me out, I have thought this through..." Her smile was so endearing, he decided to grant her that particular wish. He crossed his arms over his chest, curiously waiting for whatever arguments she would come up with to convince him of her crazy plan. "If we go to the movies or to a bar, people will expect you to be there, ergo you'll get recognized. At the mini golf course that won't happen. Besides it's going to be fun... Plus, if you don't feel like playing, we can sit down and watch other people make complete asses out of themselves..."

"I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you just said 'ergo'...," he joked.

She slapped him lightly on the left upper arm. "Concentrate," she admonished.

He sighed. "I'm probably going to regret this, but okay."

So that was why about twenty minutes later Stephen was clutching his mini golf club tightly, shooting daggers with his eyes at a miniature windmill that was blocking the ball's path to the hole. He had the tendency to always want to excel at things and his mood was growing exponentially worse with every mistake he made. He finally managed to shoot the ball past the rotating wings of the windmill. It landed in the hole behind it with a final thud. "Yay!" she cheered, after all she had reason to be cheerful, she seemed to have some weird, inexplicable talent for mini golf.

She wrote down something on the little notepad the guy at the entrance of the course had handed them. Probably their scores for this hole. He didn't even want to know. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the next station of his own personal Via Crucis.

It was blocked by two elderly ladies who were arguing with each other about something. He heard the words "You cheat!" "You liar!" being screeched in trembling, but angry voices several times. This was going to take a while. Nina tugged at his sleeve indicating a little bench, which stood a little to the side of the course, allowing for some privacy. She sat down first and he, being quite unnerved by the old ladies and by discovering for the first time to be a complete failure at a sport he tried, occupied the rest of the bench by stretching out on it. He positioned his head on her lap, taking of his flat cap for the first time today to run his hands through his unruly hair. If she was surprised by his sudden proximity, she didn't show it. Instead she gently plucked the hat from his hands and positioned it next to her on the bench.

"What...," he started, but fell quiet when her fingers started stroking his forehead and hair. They were cool and smooth and massaged his temples. He let out a hum of approval, forgetting the world around him. His eyelids fell shut. He wanted to concentrate exclusively on the sensation of her touch. Her fingers trailed up his cheeks, over his temples and disappeared in his hairline to caress the sides of his head. She repeated the motion over and over. He suddenly felt very much at peace with the world. Perhaps coming here hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

"Steve," her voice was soft, "I know you hate mini golf, so if you'd rather leave..."

His eyes snapped open. "I'd be crazy to say I want to go now...," he told her. His voice was rather mellow and somewhat sleepy.

"So you want to fall asleep on this bench right here?" She leaned a bit forward to be able to meet his gaze. Upon hearing her move, he opened his eyes. They needed a couple of seconds to adjust and soon enough her face hovering over his came into clear focus. There was a teasing sparkle in her eyes. He noticed that and also the fact that her left hand was resting on his chest rather casually. He grabbed a hold of it and traced his thumb over her palm with a pensive expression on his face. Right now he resembled a petulant child not wanting to go home just yet, which was rather cute considering that he had shown a whole lot of signs of wanting to leave earlier.

A pleasant shudder went through her body as his thumb traced back the invisible line it had drawn on her palm earlier. She could feel her head fogging up as her senses started to zero in on him and the way he touched her.

"I've got a perfectly nice couch at home where we can stretch out without two elderly ladies insulting each other in the background," she suggested.

His chest rose and fell as he chuckled. "Sounds tempting. Though that would make it kind of official that we're presently doing something like snuggling with each other..." He enclosed her hand between his larger palms. They were warm and sort of rough. "Are you sure you want to go? Wouldn't that be a bit scandalous? Isn't that kind of worse than us being just friends?" he teased.

"No, I don't think so. It would just be a natural progression to the next level," she smiled.

"Natural progression to the next level," he chuckled. "Fancy words, luv. Very posh. Your hands are all cold all of a sudden."

"I'm nervous."

"You're nervous," he echoed.

"Yeah, so what? It happens. Does it never happen to you?" she challenged him.

"It does. I'm kind of nervous right now, too," he admitted.

"How come you don't show it?"

"Cause faking confidence is part of my job?" he supplied. "Put your hand right here," he grabbed her hand and placed it right over his heart. "Can you feel this?" Underneath her hand she felt his heart beating pretty quickly.

"Yes," she nodded and their eyes met. For a moment the world around them melted away. Then she blinked and became aware again of their surroundings.

"Okay," she said, her voice sounding slightly breathy. "Wanna hear something funny...?" Nina asked eventually, laughing a – true to her earlier words – nervous laughter.

"Sure. I'm a funny guy, you know that," he smirked. Her face fell. Somehow his words or his teasing tone of voice had discouraged her. He apologized. This woman was puzzling. One minute she was brave like a lion, the next shy as a deer. Not only puzzling, but fascinating. "I'd really like to hear what you wanted to say...," he supplied.

"Okay," she agreed. "You'd think someone grown up like me, with a job and stuff should be able to... I don't know. Not revert into a total teenager when she's going out with a guy she likes?" she asked tentatively. He could detect a certain self irony behind her words. He raised an eyebrow and she felt a need to explain herself further. "It's because you make me act like a freaking teenager. My heart beats faster every time you touch me. If this continues, I'll probably faint by the time you'll try to kiss me. To think that I was going to be all mature about this! Act seductive and what not... I'm such a freaking loser."

He didn't seem to think that however. He smiled up at her with that smile of his that always made her heart do a little joyous leap. "I don't think you're a loser. I think you're rather cute. And if you do faint when I kiss you," she noticed his use of a very assertive 'when' instead of a less secure 'if' there, "I'll catch you."

"Eeeeeww, that sounds so cheesy. We're so cheesy!" she cringed, but he could tell she wasn't completely serious about it.

"Are we?" he asked back. "Is that a crime?"

"No! God! You know what the worst of it is? I think I've been completely brainwashed. I do sort of like it."

"Really? Now I'm completely disgusted with you," he told her and traced his fingers over the back of her hand.

"Yeah, me too. I feel very ashamed," she teased back.

"So, actually we're doing the public a service if we don't expose them to our disgusting cheesiness," he reasoned.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, in the name of decency and for the good of the unsuspecting masses, let's head home."

He let go of her hand and slowly got up. When he stretched his legs, he let out a soft groan. The bench had been harder than he had anticipated. She held out his cap to him with a smile. He took it from her and put it on. She was still sitting there, looking at him sort of expectantly. He held out his hand to her and wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

She got up and took it. He collected their discarded golf clubs from the floor, never letting go of her hand. They had made it to hand-holding. He'd be damned if he gave up that privilege so easily.

In practically no time they had left mini golf course behind and were strolling back to her apartment, which was a good ten minute walk away. She had grown uncharacteristically silent and he turned his head to look at her. She was smiling.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked.

"Hmmm, I don't know. Us?"

"Hmmm hmmm. What's so funny about us?"

"Nothing," she looked at him, her smile possibly more radiant now. "I kind of like holding your hand."

He smiled back. "Me too."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.


	9. Speeding on the Fast Lane

**Author's Note**: _Thank you hotpocketbandit and UntilNeverDawns for the feedback and all those lovely people who follow this story or have added me to their favourite lists. This has got to be the most fun I had writing a story in years (And I'm not being cute)... I hope you're having fun too. _

* * *

The elevator ride up to her apartment posed a moral dilemma to her. Ever since they had been walking back home she felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him and the small enclosed space sort of intensified that desire.

Her internal struggle, during which she was debating what to do, lasted longer than the elevator ride did. Back at her apartment she had to release his hand to close the door behind them. When she turned around again, he was standing right in front of her, suddenly very silent and serious. She took a step closer and laid her hand against his bearded cheek.

"Why the serious face?" she asked.

"Some moments call for a little seriousness." Despite his words a smile started spreading on his face. She could see it in his eyes long before it actually showed on his features. Her breathing quickened a little when he took a step closer. Again she smelt his cologne. It smelt so good she wanted to bury her nose in the crook of his neck and inhale that scent to figure out what made it so irresistible to her.

"Not this one," she told him and pulled him into a hug, gently tugging him forward by his hand. She didn't feel quite courageous enough to kiss him yet. His arms enfolded her and his hands moved over her back with a hesitance and tenderness that made her melt. She leaned back into his arms and looked up at his face.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers. She smiled. "That's an Eskimo kiss," she observed. Her voice was very low now. It didn't need to be any louder. At this close proximity even a whisper would have been enough to be heard.

"Yes," he said. "Are you ready for a real one?"

Instead of an answer, she reached out her hand and caressed his face with her fingertips. It was strange and new and wonderful seeing him that up close. She was suddenly able to see nuances of his personality she had failed to notice before. It struck her that there was so much more she had yet to learn about him. So far she had only scratched the surface. What was there? More depth? The look in his eyes made her believe as much. She was convinced he was more than just a funny guy who had a lot of muscle on him.

She was curious for more; always was when it came to him. She leaned up and gently pressed her lips to his. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her. She was standing on the balls of her feet and he steadied her with his hands. His lips felt soft, warm and inviting against hers, but his beard scratched a little against her skin when she applied a bit more pressure. It was an interesting sensation, not unpleasant, just different.

She pulled back. They were still so close their breaths were mingling. She was smiling and he leaned down to kiss her again. His lips opened a little and caressed her bottom lip, which elicited a little sigh from her. She experimentally mirrored his move, trying to find out whether he would like it as much as she had. He made a soft humming noise against her lips.

Their kisses were playful and tentative, but underneath she could feel something else and she was quite interested in that something else. It seemed like he was holding back, like he was afraid he would scare her if this grew too intense.

She decided to up the ante and tentatively sucked a little at his bottom lip. Just a little tug, nothing more. He reacted immediately to it. His hands traveled further down her back. His lips parted a little underneath hers. There was no tongue involved yet, nevertheless she got the message pretty loud and clear that he wanted her and that he liked kissing her.

In fact he was quite good at it. Almost too good. When she felt her knees grow weak, she had the good sense to lay her hands on his chest and gently push him back. He looked confused, which was a rather attractive look on him. Perhaps in hindsight they shouldn't stop yet, her hormonally clouded mind supplied. She shook herself, not wanting her libido to dictate the course this relationship would take.

"That was rather nice," he grinned.

"Nice?" she repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. "Strolls in the park are nice, finding an empty parking space when you need one, is sort of nice, getting a free cup of coffee is nice..."

"You've never heard of such a thing as understatement, have you?" he took a step closer to her and stroked her cheek to appease her. It did also help his case that he hugged her midriff as well.

"I have, but I don't do subtle. Sorry, honey," she leaned up and nuzzled his cheek. "Just call me Little Miss Sledgehammer."

He chuckled. The vibrations of his chest seemed to continue through her body and she shivered pleasantly as his hand trailed down her back. "Little Miss Sledgehammer, huh? You're too cute for a nickname like that. Would make a nice ring-name, though..."

"No offense, but that's so not gonna happen," she told him and he made a face.

Again it struck her how much she liked him and how much she enjoyed spending time with him. She wanted to make the most out of that time, so the next words practically forced themselves on her. "When's your flight tomorrow?" Nina asked abruptly. He let go of her in surprise.

"Do you want to get rid of me already?"

She laughed. "No. Actually it's the opposite. I'm going to go against everything those dating advice books tell women to do..."

"Really?" The expression on his face grew particularly impish at her words. "I'm all ears..."

"Yeah, really. Because I'm going to tell you to stay here instead of going back to your hotel. That is if you're okay with sleeping on my couch..." She didn't make a long enough pause to actually allow him to answer. "It's just that I figured you're not going to be here again for a long time, right? For how long exactly?" she narrowed her eyes in concentration, trying to remember those tour dates she had written down in her calendar, "3 weeks? 4?"

"3 1/2," he corrected her with a gentle and rather indulgent smile.

"Sorry, was I too blunt? Should I be less obvious about the fact that I like you? I'm just not made for that whole be-sneaky-about-your-feelings-shit. Not too smooth, I know..." She looked at him expectantly, while she was picking at her nails. He had noticed her do that whenever she was insecure about something. It occurred to him that the tough facade she was projecting was indeed nothing but a facade. He needed to give her an answer quickly before she self-combusted out of insecurity.

"No, not too blunt," he said and she visible relaxed. "I'd rather stay here instead of going back to the hotel, but usually when you say something like that to a girl she's bound to eat your head off." He grinned. The fact that she was so direct did indeed make things less complicate. He began to rather appreciate that particular quality of hers.

"Girls start complaining? Why? Cause you men have a one-track mind? Old news. You're sleeping on the couch, fella, so don't get any wrong ideas," she smirked, moving in the direction of the living-room.

"One-track mind?" He followed her and she turned around to look at him when she heard the skeptical tone of his voice.

She was slowly walking backwards as she answered."Yeah and I'm supposed to love the color pink and go crazy for dresses and all that other girly stuff. Don't you get it? I wasn't serious about that," she explained and winked at him, before she turned around again. After all she had to take her own klutziness into account. "Still the way men think, fundamentally differs from the way women think." He nodded. They had reached the living room. His gaze fell on the comfortable looking couch in front of him.

"Drink?" she asked casually, already walking towards the kitchen.

"Water?"

"One water coming up," she grinned at him and disappeared in the kitchen only to reemerge seconds later.

She placed a can of coke and a glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch and plopped down next to him. Because things were still sort of fresh and she didn't want to invade his personal space too much, she left a few inches between them.

He scooted a bit closer to her as he reached for the water in front of him. It was a rather smooth move. Now their thighs were almost touching.

They were both quiet now, which made the situation rather awkward. "So...," he started.

"So...," she echoed and they both started laughing.

He took her hand in his and tugged at it, making her sit closer to him. "Better," he commented with a satisfied nod.

She looked at him, studying his profile. He caught her watching and smiled. "What?"

She shook her head. How was she supposed to communicate that she found the fact that he could be so outgoing and energetic, yet somewhat inept and shy at the same time, rather endearing? There was no way she could say that without him taking offense, so she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"I like that, but it doesn't change the fact that you're still sitting too far away," he said.

"And what are we supposed to do about that?" she asked with a smirk.

"Simple." He got up and swept her up in his arms. She let out a sound of surprise as his strong arms lifted her up.

"Show off," she chastised him. Instead of a retort he leaned in and kissed her. She closed her eyes as their lips connected for a brief moment and they remained closed for several more seconds after the kiss had ended. He sat back down on the couch with her still in his arms, so she was sprawled across his lap. She adjusted her position by wrapping her arms around his neck, now sitting a little more upright.

The short hair at the nape of his neck felt soft underneath her fingertips and she couldn't stop herself from touching it. He emitted a hum of approval which called back her attention to his face. Their eyes met, her hands came to rest on both sides of his face. She gently traced the outline of his beard with her fingers.

"How do you look without the beard?" she wondered out loud.

"Less manly and hairy," he deadpanned with a smirk.

She took her time to look at him properly and he did the same. Seen from an objective point of view he was good-looking. But she wasn't into muscles or broad shoulders. What had attracted her to him in the first place was his sense of humor. He didn't take himself too seriously and whenever he smiled, his face lit up. So what ultimately did it for her, must have been one of those smiles because they always created some kind of magnetism that drew her closer to him.

She continued to look at his face. Before she had made the mistake of saying his eyes were blue, but that was because she hadn't had the chance or the courage to look at him that up close. Actually there were aquamarine.

Above his neatly trimmed beard there was the beginning of a stubble. She brushed the back of her hand over it. Rough. She smiled.

"So have I passed the inspection?" he asked in a teasing tone of voice, but for once she didn't feel like joking. She could sense some kind of insecurity behind his question. It was there in the way he stubbornly stuck out his chin and his jaw was set a little too tightly.

"No inspection," she said softly. "I'm just curious."

"About me?"

"Yes," she nodded. The urge to kiss him was there again and intensified with every passing second. So she simply gave in. She leaned in to kiss him gently, wanting to communicate all those things she didn't feel ready to tell him just yet. Her lips opened ever so slightly and caressed his. She felt his breath brush against her moist lips. She smiled and placed both her hands on the sides of his face. Her teeth grazed over his bottom lip ever so slightly. She pulled back slowly, taking in the slight blush that was coloring his cheeks. It told her more about the situation at hand than a thousand words could have said. He had enjoyed the kiss. Probably more than he would admit if she asked him straight to his face.

"You're a tease," he said. The way he said those words told her that he seemed to be unsure of whether to admonish her or praise her for that particular quality.

"Yes," she said slowly. "But you like being teased..."

"No," he shook his head. "The only person allowed to tease me and get away with it is you."

"How convenient for me...," she observed.

"Indeed," he grinned.

He kissed her again. A pleasant shudder went through her when the tip of his tongue touched her lips for the first time. She slung her arms more tightly around his neck. When the kiss ended, a little sigh escaped her mouth.

"Some learning curve," she said, her voice sounding sort of breathy and low.

"What can I say? I'm a fast learner," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Oh, this is going to be fun!" she laughed. "You're quite a bit of trouble, aren't you?"

"Ah, you've got no idea, luv," he smirked.

"I'm looking forward to finding out how much exactly."

"Really? You're one brave girl," he teased her and kissed her cheek. "So what now?"

"Movie?" she suggested.

He wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "You'd have to get up for that. I'm not sure I'll let you."

"Awww, honey, you're too cute for words!" she teased him, but also made no move to get up. The TV remote control was lying on the coffee table, so she reached for it. They surfed channels for a while. Watching TV with him felt odd at first. Just like a million other things it wasn't something she'd have ever imagined doing with him, but it turned out to be rather fun.

The struggle over who got to have the remote control was settled very early on. She simply held it out to him, her mouth set in a crooked smirk. "Surprise me," she challenged.

He did. She would have expected him to switch to a sports transmission or maybe an action movie, instead he chose "Army of Darkness", one of her all time favorites. She quietly beamed at him.

"What?" he asked her in surprise.

"Maybe handing over the remote to you wasn't such a bad thing. You've just proven worthy of it," she curled up against his chest, getting comfortable as she watched the screen.

"Worthy of it...," she heard him repeat with a disgruntled scoff, which didn't have her too worried since he placed his hand on her forearm and started stroking it in a way that made it hard for her to concentrate on the movie. She allowed her eyelids to drift shut. It had been a long time since she felt that comfortable and content.

Underneath the palm of her hand his chest was rising and falling steadily and with her ear pressed against his chest, she could hear the regular beating of his heart.

His body warmth and his heartbeat slowly lulled her into a state between waking and sleeping. The hand that was stroking her arm eventually came to rest on it, his breathing slowed down and also became more profound. They both fell asleep on the couch. The soft bluish light of the TV fell on faces that were calm and serene in slumber.

* * *

She slowly woke up. She was lying atop of her blanket. Her nose was pressed into it. It smelt much nicer than she remembered. Was it really a blanket? She had the distinct feeling that her blanket did not rise and fall and have the contours of a muscular male chest.

Stephen. When she thought that name, she had to smile against his chest. She slowly became aware of the fact that they were sprawled out on her couch, with her practically draped over his chest. In the background the TV was still running. Someone was talking. It sounded like the news. The volume of the TV was pretty low, so she had to strain her ears to understand what the male voice was saying. Stephen's soft snores didn't help matters either.

"Welcome to...," the next part she didn't quite get. "It's Sunday morning, 8 o'clock..." Her eyes shot open in shock. Shit! Shit! Shit! They had precisely two hours to get ready and drive to the airport.

She tried to carefully untangle her limps from his, but her efforts were made nil when his arms encircled her and pulled her closer against him. An inner voice told her to surrender herself to the pleasant warmth of his embrace and just close her eyes and go back to sleep, but her conscience just wouldn't let her.

"Steve, we have to get up," she said softly. No reaction. She struggled to escape the gentle hold of the Irish kraken and eventually managed to sit up. He made a sound of disapproval. It was something like a hum, perhaps it was supposed to be a "no". He still had his eyes closed. She grabbed his right hand and tugged at it. It was no use. He was playing possum and refusing to cooperate. "Steve, come on...," she said in an imploring voice. "Your flight is going in like...," she yawned, looking at the tiny clock that was visible on the display of her DVD-player. It was already 8:05. She cursed loudly. He finally cracked open one of his eyes. Her hand was still wrapped around his wrist. He pulled her back down towards him without meeting a lot of resistance.

"Not a good idea," she mumbled. Soon her body was curled around his again, her cheek resting against his chest. She didn't sound all that reproachful.

"I think it's rather excellent," he told her and she was able to hear the smile in his voice that was still slightly rough from sleep.

She took his hand into hers. "Seriously, you have to get up now. If you miss that flight, what about the next show? Don't you have to rehearse?"

He sighed. "Yes." A bit of anger sounded through in that simple word, but she soon learned it wasn't directed at her. "Why the bleeding hell did we have to fall asleep so early last night?"

She looked at him, propping up her chin on his chest. "'Cause we both work too much and were tired?" she suggested.

"Gotta be it," he smiled.

"Yeah," Nina replied with very little enthusiasm. She slowly got up from the couch which enabled him to sit up. He ran his hand over his face tiredly, blinking a few times as he regarded her. He looked very sleepy and very adorable, but of course she wouldn't tell him that. If she were to comment on the present state he found himself in, she would be using the words "handsome" and "sexy". Men didn't take to kindly to words like "adorable", especially not the ones who worked hard to broadcast a certain hard-ass attitude like him.

She stepped in front of him and he immediately pulled her closer by hugging her midriff. She smiled and ran her hands through his unruly hair. "So here's the plan. Time is ticking. Only one of us can shower before we leave and we also need copious amounts of coffee." He pressed a kiss to her belly. She could feel the imprint of his lips through the thin fabric of the tank top. "I'll take care of the coffee. You shower?"

"How about we shower together?" he flashed her a positively devious grin. She understood he was not serious about that proposal, but that grin of his issued a certain challenge.

"Seriously? We have roughly 20 minutes before we have to leave. I'm kind of disappointed, I thought that once we got to the stage of showering together it would last a little longer than just 20 minutes...," she teased him with a raised eyebrow.

He looked up at her and laughed. "I'm confident I can grant you that wish," he winked at her, all playful and mischievous. "But I'm not sure you'll last that long."

"Oh my God! I can't believe you've just said that," Nina exclaimed, slightly shocked by his remark. But she wasn't too shocked. In fact she was laughing and blushing a little as she lightly slapped his shoulder.

"To be continued," he grinned and stood up from the couch, stretching his limps.

"Yeah, definitely. I was talking about the slap by the way."

"Oh, pity! I was talking 'bout our little shower conversation," he told her, walking over to his bag to get some fresh clothes before he would head to the bathroom. He bent down and started rummaging in it.

"I hope you're not all talk and no substance," she told him. It would have been a nice touch to be able to flip her hair back now, but thanks to her short hair she just had to resign herself to crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked over his shoulder at her and promptly caught her staring at his backside. She had the good sense to blush profusely. "I think I've just caught you gawking at me arse," he started laughing.

"Shut up!" she told him, blushing even more.

"I'll be under the shower in case you wanna gawk some more," he smirked at her triumphantly.

"Wait!" Nina called at his retreating back. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black. Lots of sugar," he called out over his shoulder.

About 20 minutes later he had showered and she had even managed to tick off three important things on her to-do-list for this morning, like quickly grabbing a fresh tee, brushing her teeth and combing her hair. They both hurried down to her car, clutching two travel coffee mugs.

Before she started the engine she took a sip from her cup. She made a face as if she had just bit into a lemon. "That's yours," she announced. "Here, mister. Go ahead and rot those perfect white teeth of yours with this disgusting brew."

"Thank you, most gracious of you," he said and in exchange handed her his cup with a grin.

"You're welcome," she said, waving at him with her hand benignly.

She started the engine and shortly after they were driving down the highway that would bring them to LaGuardia. He noticed how she was kind of tense. Her driving style had changed drastically from yesterday. She was overtaking a lot of other vehicles, changing lanes all the time. A glance at the speedometer reassured him that they were still within the speed limit, but only barely so.

They made the way from Stamford to LaGuardia in under one and a half hours. At the parking lot she honked at several cars and stole an empty parking space from right under the nose of a less energetic driver.

"That was close, but we've made it!" She released the steering wheel with a long drawn exhale. "You need to run now," she said at she looked at him regretfully. Even though it was only inland flight, he would need some time to do the check-in and get through security.

"Yeah, but I also need to do this," he said and leaned over to kiss her goodbye. He was aware that it would be the last time he would be able to do this for a good long while.

Their lips connected and separated. He tried to find a place to put his hands. Things like the handbrake and their seat-belts were in the way. They kissed again. He almost lifted her onto his lap when her mouth slowly opened underneath his. She emitted a soft noise, somewhere between sigh and moan, which was rather sexy. She tasted like minty toothpaste and coffee.

They slowly separated. He needed to catch a flight. He leaned his forehead against hers. He still had her taste on his lips. The last thing he wanted to do now was go. But he had to.

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I'll call you later."

"You do that."

He nodded and got out of the car. His hand was still resting on the upper part of the door, which he was about to close, when she called out to him.

"Hey, Steve," he lowered his head to look inside the car. "Be safe, okay?"

"I'll try my best," he told her because in his line of work that was all he could promise.

Later, when he waited in line with the other passengers to board his plane, he got out his cellphone again. She had been constantly on his mind in the last couple of minutes. "Missing you," he typed, hesitating to send the text. He could remember when he had last allowed himself to delve into the experience of falling in love with someone that readily and without second thoughts. He usually didn't send those kind of text. He looked down at it once more and finally pressed down his thumb on send.

The road in front of them didn't look too easy, at this point of his life he was under no illusion that his job was beneficial to allowing him to form any kind of serious, long lasting attachments. At least he was hoping that what they had started this weekend, would turn out to be something more permanent, so the very least he could do was to be honest with her about his feelings.


	10. Trouble in Paradise

Monday morning back at work, Nina was walking over the parking lot towards the main entrance of the building. She greeted the security guards at the entrance with a huge smile. She felt invigorated and more happy than usual. It was silly really and childish. She should stop this, after all she had work to do.

On the elevator ride up to her office she forced down her grin. As always she was up to an early start. She usually was among the first to arrive and do things like starting a pot of coffee in the break-room and switching on the photocopying machines on her floor. Today they would have another one of those meetings where they would discuss the upcoming storylines. They would also have to talk about Sheamus and Mark Henry. She had already come up with an idea for their encounter, but she still felt nervous about that.

She entered her office. Luke's and Maria's tables were still empty. She sat down at her desk and picked up the little Sheamus action figure. Luke had given it to her as a office warming present a couple of months ago. She looked at it with a smile. It bore a certain resemblance to him, but the face was kind of wrong.

"Hey," a voice startled her out of her reverie. It was Luke.

"Hey yourself!" she smiled at him and put down the action figure.

"Did you catch Doctor Who last night?" he asked putting down his bag on the floor next to his desk.

"No, I missed it. But I TiVoed it," she admitted hesitantly.

Luke gaped at her. "You missed it? It had Vastra, Jenny and Strax. How could you miss that?"

Nina gave him an apologetic look. She had been on the phone with Stephen yesterday night. It hadn't been a long call. Just a quick check-in to tell her that he was okay and that rehearsal had gone well. Afterward, however, she didn't feel like watching TV anymore. But she wouldn't tell Luke that even if he was a friend. In fact after what had happened after Wrestlemania she wouldn't tell anyone what was going on with her and Stephen.

"What could be more important than Doctor Who?" he asked incredulously.

She smirked. "I was putting together my costume for the next Star Wars convention."

"Ooooh! That was low," Luke covered his heart with his hands and sank down on his chair in a theatrical and exaggerated gesture. "Just out of curiosity, what are you going as?"

"I'll be Princess Leila. Tell Daniel Bryan aka Goat Boy to call me. I still need an Ewok to accompany me," she winked at her colleague.

"You're in a good mood today...," he observed.

"Am I?" she grinned. "Maybe because I had a rather relaxing weekend." Quite inevitably her eyes landed on the discarded Sheamus action figure that was lying in front of her on her desktop.

She gush of cool air hit the back of her neck as Maria breezed in through the door behind her. The Latina picked up on her last couple of words as she walked in.

"Relaxing weekend? Did you finally get laid?" her colleague teased her with a smirk.

Luke let out a cackle and high-fived Maria as she sat down next to him.

"Possible. Did you?" Nina asked back, propping her head up on her hands as she threw Maria a complete innocent look. "You know that sex goes down after you get married. How are those wedding preparations getting along by the way?" she asked conversationally.

"Meow!" Luke commented Nina's remark.

"You're going to go shopping for a wedding dress this week with me as a punishment for that comment," Maria told her, sternly pointing her index finger at her friend. She knew her well enough by now to be aware that she wasn't the type of girl who would rejoice at the thought of diving head first into a world consisting of frilly dresses, flower bouquets and pink icing on cakes. To her great surprise Nina's reaction was different than she would have imagined.

"Really?" her colleague smiled at her. "I'd love to."

"You're pulling my leg," Maria gave her an incredulous look.

"No, no, really. I think it's going to be fun. Us two hunting for your wedding dress? Those shop assistants should better watch out and hide away those free glasses of champagne," Nina smiled and spun around in her chair once before she jumped to her feet, ready to get her second cup of coffee this morning. She usually had one at home and a second one just before she delved into her workload.

"You are really seeing someone, aren't you?" Maria asked her, leaning forward in her chair curiously. Luke was on the edge of his seat too, waiting for Nina's answer.

She just smirked at her two colleagues. "Who else wants a cup of coffee?"

Luke let out a groan and Maria just smiled. They both knew now that they wouldn't get the desired information out of her this way. She was quite stubborn.

They would have to draw their conclusions from watching her and content themselves with whatever little morsel of information she was ready to throw their way.

Nina's high spirits lasted precisely until the group meeting. Her smiles were toothy and bright and her mood disgustingly positive, but then she laid eyes on Mike again that good mood disappeared. As always when entering the conference room, she squared her shoulders and became rather alert.

Luke, Maria and Nina sat down at their usual places in the corner of the room and watched the rest of the team file in. Nina eyes remained fixed on Mike. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. It was like he was plotting something.

With Dickson's arrival the meeting rolled off. They were talking about the show in one weeks from now. The most basic things about it had been settled already, but some details still needed sorting out.

"Barrett, Sheamus, Henry," Dickson called out eventually.

Nina raised her hand with a grin and gave her Mark Henry's writer, the guy was called Vince and was in his fifties, a friendly nod.

"Tell us about what you've got planned for the match next Monday. We've got Barrett vs Sheamus with a little bit of Henry in the mix, right?" Dickson summed up the situation.

"Exactly. Sheamus vs Henry is one of the main events of Extreme Rules, so we can't have the Celtic Warrior lose against Barrett. But it needs to be a tough fight because Wade needs to go on to fight against the Miz and Fandango eventually. We need to make them both look good."

"We'll bring Mark out after the fight and let him kick Sheamus' butt all over the place," Vince explained. For once Nina didn't quite know how to feel about that particular piece of information though it was something both Vince and her had discussed before the weekend. Some of those hits Steve would be at the receiving end of would probably hurt.

She shook those doubts off and regarded Dickson. He had said nothing yet.

"Saying that Henry will be kicking his ass is perhaps a bit imprecise. Could you elaborate? We need to spice things up before Extreme Rules," Dickson gave to think.

"Mark could bring out one of those straps for the Strap Match we've got planned for Extreme Rules and whip him with it. It would look great and those straps are pretty well padded so the risk of injury would be minimal...," Nina supplied.

Dickson nodded. She could tell he liked the idea. Unfortunately it was precisely that moment that Mike chose to open his mouth.

"Sorry, guys. But it's not called Extreme Rules for nothing. How about we replace that strap with a leather belt?"

Nina could have sworn there was the ghost of a triumphant smirk on Mike's face. She, however, had trouble keeping her facial expression neutral. She would not allow Stephen to be whipped with a belt just because it would look better on TV.

She got out of her chair. "Mike," the way she said his name made a bit of the dislike she felt towards him shine through, "I'm not sure we should risk the health of one of our main-eventers at this point of time. Extreme Rules is only a couple of weeks away. Besides I don't think he'll be up for it." The last sentence was a lie. Unfortunately Stephen was always up for anything extreme. That's probably what had landed him the job with the WWE.

Mike seemed to know that as well. "It looks like you don't know Steve all that well. Luckily I do. He'll do it. I'm sure of it. And as for those risks you are so afraid of? He's a wrestler. Guys like him are bound to sustain multiple fractured bones in their careers. The worst that can happen to him are a few welts. Those will not keep him from competing at Extreme Rules."

Nina's eyes sparkled at Mike across the table dangerously. She eventually turned her head to look at Dickson, awaiting his final verdict.

"Sorry, Nina, I gotta go with Mike this time. You get on the phone with Stephen after this and try to convince him to do it."

She nodded slowly, suddenly feeling sort of numb. Talk about repercussions on her work! About a month ago this phone call wouldn't have been that much of a problem. Alright, who was she kidding? That was a lie. She often tended to forget that sports entertainment was a bit different from the job she had worked in before. When actors had to film a scene where they got into a car crash, they didn't really have to get into a car crash. When a Wrestler received a beating with a belt, he would receive a beating with a belt. She would have been worried even before she had gotten emotionally compromised.

This would turn out to be one of the hardest phone calls of her life, because now her personal interests were conflicting with what was best for her professional future. She didn't even pay attention to what was said the rest of the meeting. She was busy working out what she was supposed to tell Stephen when she got on the phone with him later.

The meeting closed with Dickson's usual salute. "Thank you, guys! See you all on Thursday."

She got up from her chair and fought through the stream of colleagues wanting to leave the conference room. Someone bumped against her shoulder with quite a lot of force. "Ow!" she cried out and rubbed it, looking around to find out whoever had rammed her. She saw Mike throw her an evil smirk over his shoulder as he walked away. Of course...

She continued to make her way over to Dickson who was busy collecting his paperwork.

"Erm, boss...?" she tried to get his attention.

The older man looked up at her. "How can I help you?"

"I know this is kind of short notice, but I wanted to ask whether I could get Monday and Tuesday off next week. I haven't taken any vacation yet and I clocked in quite a bit of extra hours over the last couple of weeks..."

He shot her an appraising look. It took a couple of seconds before he answered. "You know we've got a PPV event coming up and there's lots of work to be done..."

"Yeah, I know. I wouldn't be dropping off the face of the earth. I'd have my computer and cellphone with me..."

Another long pause. "Alright," he begrudgingly agreed.

"Thank you," she forced a smile at him, her mind already occupied with that phone call she would have to make now.

She made a little detour to her office and stuck her head in to tell Luke and Maria she was off for her lunch-break. She needed somewhere away from curious ears to talk to Steve, so she headed down to her car.

Nina closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, mentally going over what she was going to tell him once he picked up the phone. "Shit!" she swore in desperation and lightly bumped her head against the steering wheel. With a deep sigh she eventually dialed his number. One ring, two rings, three... He picked up.

Even before he said "hello" she could tell where he was. His breathing was quick, in the background there was the sound of a heavy metallic weight being placed on another metallic object. The gym.

"Hey," he greeted her slightly out of breath.

"Hey," she said back, her voice sounding somewhat clipped and forced. "I need to talk with you about something business related," Nina pressed out quickly before he got the chance to say something that would make it harder for her to go through with what she needed to do.

"Okay," he said, sounding a bit uncomfortable. The noises of the gym in the background had faded now. Wherever he was now made his voice sort of echoey over the line.

"Where are you?" she asked curiously.

"The locker room, in case I need to sit down," he said.

She paused, trying to find the right words to be able to say what needed to be said while he was waiting. She could hear the rustle of fabric over the line. Perhaps he was drying himself off with a towel.

"You still there?" he asked eventually.

"Yeah," she said in a small voice.

"Listen if it helps any... The audience went nuts about that prank from last night. When Ziggler walked out with that Diva's championship belt around his hips, everyone was laughing their arses off..."

She smiled despite herself. "Did you talk to Kaitlyn first? She seems like a nice girl, I don't want her to feel bad for switching her belt against Ziggler's."

"All settled," he told her. "Now out with it! What did you want to tell me?"

"I don't think there is a right way to tell you..."

"Well, then just say it. You're making me start to worry I'm fired..."

"You're not fired. It would be McMahon calling you, not me," she said evenly.

"Nice. Feeling better already. Now spill..."

"Alright, keep in mind that I'm talking to you now solely as your writer and not in any other... capacity."

"Hmmm. What's that other capacity again? I think we haven't talked about that yet...," he was joking despite the seriousness of the situation. That was so typically him. She felt a wave of affection for him.

"Not now, Steve," she admonished him gently.

It was difficult enough to have this conversation with him as it was. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but they just wouldn't come out. There was really no easy way of asking someone whether he would agree to being whipped with a belt on a worldwide TV-show. "Aaaaargh!" she groaned in frustration. "Get yourself together, Nina!" She muttered under her breath. He didn't make a sound. No chuckle, no comment, no nothing. He just waited, which was just the right thing to do to finally get her talking.

"Okay, listen," she managed finally. "After your match with Stu they want to bring Mark Henry out. His appearance is supposed to spice up things for Extreme Rules. I wanted to have him carry one of those straps you are going to be using for the Strap Match and start whipping you with that. They are all padded and stuff, so I figured there was a minimal risk of injury..." She heard him hum his approval over the line. "The problem's just that the rest of the team thought my idea wasn't extreme enough. They want to replace that strap with a leather belt. Now I'm supposed to get your approval for that idea..."

Silence. She waited for him to say something. She wanted him so badly to say "no" to this that she lost her patience after the first couple of seconds had passed.

"As your writer I say "Go for it, if you think you can pull it off without too much of a risk." In my other capacity I say "Tell them to go fuck themselves!"," a little of the irritation and anger she had felt during the meeting shone through in those last words and gave her voice a certain vehemence.

"I get that," he said finally, sounding somewhat tired.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Me job, of course," he sighed. He seemed to be aware that his answer had the potential to make her even angrier, but her next words made clear that there was no danger of that.

"You know what? I kind of already saw that coming," her voice was filled with resignation and a bit of extra reproach added in the mixed. He waited for her to start nagging him about how he could be so daft as to agree to being whipped with a belt on live TV by the World's Strongest Man. To his surprise she refrained from lecturing him about that. The line was completely silent for a while.

"Hello? Are you still there?" he asked eventually.

"You know how other woman would kick your ass for being an unreasonable idiot?" He noticed that she had been swearing a lot in the last couple of minutes, he wrote it off to her being extremely irritated.

"Yeah...," he said cautiously.

"I've just asked Dickson to give me Monday and Tuesday off, so I can be waiting for you backstage to help you rub your stupid back with some aloe lotion after Henry's whipped you into oblivion." Now she really sounded pissed off.

He smirked and that smirk even transported into his voice. "Maybe I should agree to stuff like that more often."

Her voice was so loud when she replied, he actually had to hold away the phone from his ear in order not to go deaf. "Don't you fucking dare! If you think I'll watch you turn into a second Mike Foley, you have another thing coming, mister!" She was positively fuming with anger now.

"Calm down!" he told her.

"Maybe later," she said grumpily. "I'll definitely need some ice cream and Scotch when I'm home tonight..."

"You're angry," he observed.

"I'm livid," she corrected.

"At me?" Stephen asked cautiously.

"Only some very, very small irrational part of me. I kind of have a rather precise idea of what it is you're doing for a living, Steve. The person I'm mostly angry at is me actually...," she sighed.

"Why?"

"Cause I shouldn't allow my feelings for you to interfere with my job..." Nina spoke those words very cautiously and deliberately.

"What kind of feelings?" he asked leaning back against the locker behind him. This conversation was becoming more and more interesting.

"The kind of feelings that make me feel sick to the stomach when I see you get hurt, okay?" The "okay" at the end and the sentence was very sharp and an admonition to leave that subject alone for now.

"Okay," he said softly.

"Okay," she agreed. A couple of seconds passed without them saying anything.

"Are you sure you want me to come? I've just waltzed all over you and told you that I would. Do you even want me there?"

"Luv...," now his voice sounded rather exasperated. "You've got to be completely off your nut to be thinking I don't want you there. The day that will happen, pigs will fly..." His Irish accent had grown proportionately thicker with his rising level of agitation.

"Alright. Thanks, I guess. Then I'd better head back to work and get myself a plane ticket to Virginia, huh? When do you get there?"

"Around Sunday morning," he said.

"When's a good time for me to be arriving there as well?"

"Anything in the early afternoon should be fine. Give me a call later," he grinned.

"Count on it," she replied and hung up.

* * *

As she got off the plane she could help but wonder whether airports would become a recurring theme in their relationship. As Nina stood next to the baggage claim conveyor belt, her right foot tapping a nervous rhythm on the floor, she looked around to see who was waiting with her. She saw small families, businessmen and college students. Next to her a fashionably dressed woman picked up her Louis Vuitton suitcase from the conveyor belt. She was wearing high heels and a skirt and looking so good that Nina inevitably started tugging at her own clothes.

Nina had a loose fitting black shirt on that slipped down one of her shoulders and revealed the straps of a black camisole. Her tight jeans were faded and ripped in a couple of places. When she reached for her own suitcase, the multiple silver bracelets she wore on her right wrist made a soft metallic noise. This was one of her most comfortable outfits. Something she would never wear to work because it was more fit for a rock concert than the office. She lowered her shades to her nose. Today she felt rather vulnerable. Better not let anyone see her eyes.

Anyone who knew her a little, would have been able to tell that something was off, because the tougher her facade, the more fragile she felt on the inside. In that respect she was like one of those tiny rat-like dogs which always bark extra loud, because they want to compensate for their lack of strength.

Nina walked down the customs corridor and finally through those sliding doors that separated the arriving travelers from the rest of the airport. She looked around for her one-man-welcoming-committee. After the first couple of steps through the door she spotted him. He was dressed like a chauffeur, sporting a black suit, a white shirt, a black tie, a black flat cap and dark sunglasses. When her eyes fell on the sign he was holding, she had to laugh for the first time in hours. It read: "Driving Ms Stewart".

Her steps quickened since she was rather eager to get past that metallic railing that still separated her from him. Thanks to her own flat shoes she managed to overtake the fashionable woman she had stood next to at the baggage claim conveyor belt. Out of the corner of her eyes she watched her approach an equally fashionable man in a two-piece-suit. They hugged and kissed, which seemed sort of odd because they looked so immaculate it seemed like they had jumped straight off the pages of some fashion magazine. She was ripped out of those thoughts rather painfully when someone rolled a suitcase over her foot and she jumped out of the way as three children, who were screaming "Daddy! Daddy!", were barreling towards the man, walking next to her.

At the end of the railing she turned right, looking for Stephen among the crowd of people. She found him in no time. He was standing right in front of her now, grinning at her as she nearly collided with his massive chest.

"Miss Stewart...," he said. "I'll be driving you today." She saw a flash of his blue eyes as he looked at her over the edge of those sunglasses. To finally see him again after one week of phone calls and countless texts was exciting and wonderful and somewhat strange. There were butterfly in her stomach. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not able to do more because they were in a public place.

He pulled her closer by positioning his hand on the small of her back. The gesture of intimacy sort of belied his formal attire. The heat of his palm radiated through her top or perhaps that was only her imagination playing up. Anyway she couldn't help but wonder why her senses always seemed to be so hypersensitive whenever he was involved. The simplest of touches was enough to cause her a pleasant shudder.

Her nostrils quivered as she inhaled his cologne and she almost sighed. There was no denying that she was rather into this man and that she had missed him.

"You look really nice in a suit," she whispered to him when she slowly pulled back. "Playing dress up to blend in?"

"Aren't you a clever one? You don't look too bad yourself," he complimented her, smirking as he picked up her suitcase. "Come on," he took her by the hand and tugged her towards the exit. She complied with a smile on her face.

He had gotten a rental car; some black SUV that looked like one of the guys from Criminal Minds or CSI would have loved to get his hands on. Without further ado he put her suitcase in the trunk and they got inside the car.

He was about to turn the key in the ignition, but her fingers closed around his wrist and stopped him. He looked at her. She had pushed her own sunglasses up into her hair and now her face came closer as she leaned over to gently remove the shades from his nose as well. "There you are," she said with a smile.

She saw the expression change on his face. It happened slowly and subtly. His features shifted from neutral and sort of aloof to gentle and smiling as he moved closer to her. His advance stopped at a very short distance from her. His eyes were wandering over her face. She could feel his breath on her skin when he exhaled. The color of his eyes was especially bright today. Had they always been like this?

"I've missed you," he finally admitted.

Instead of an answer she closed the distance between them. Her lips met his in a soft caress that was short, but memorable thanks to its tenderness. "I've missed you too," she clarified when she pulled back.

He shook his head as if to get himself out of daze. "Be a love and remind me, who was I again and what did I want in life except for kissing you?" he threw her a smile that made her insides melt, nevertheless it didn't manage to make her forget why she was here. If anything it only made her recall the reason for her being here more clearly.

"Gladly. You're Stephen. You are a crazy Irish dude who likes to clobber people and takes unnecessary risks. I'm Nina. And right now I'm kind of worried for you and your mental health because you think getting your ass whooped by some big, angry Texan sounds like a fun idea," she summed up the situation with a healthy does of irony. Irony was her last refuge in a situation like this.

"Ah, now I remember. You're that contrary girl who always talks back and has a nag for destroying the mood, right?" he joked.

"Yeah, that's me alright. The bossy bitch who just flew a couple of hundred miles to see you. How about a little thankfulness now?" Her tone was light, but there was a subtle tension in it as well.

"I am glad to see you," he told her in all honesty.

"As I am to see you. I just would have like it to be under different circumstances..."

"Anything I can do to make you less irritable?" he sighed.

"I don't know...," she gave him a speculative look. "Food usually helps. Lunch... How 'bout you buy me lunch?"

He nodded and started the car.


	11. I am melting! I am melting!

**Author's note:**_Thank you, UntilNeverDawns and VoiceoftheVoiceless! I'm so happy you enjoy the story. And thank you to all my other readers as well. I finished the story today and we've got lots of more chapters to come. And I've got lots of editing to do. Joy!_

_Some ice cubes involved in this chapter. Things are going to get pretty interesting... Enjoy!_

* * *

Stuart Bennett was laughing to himself as he watched the scene in front of him unfold. It was better than any movie he had seen in the last couple of years. Speaking of movies, there would have been only one way he would have enjoyed this experience more - if someone had handed him a bucket of popcorn.

They were backstage in one of the corridors of the sports arena that would house Raw tonight. Nina Stewart had just walked up to Mark Henry with the words: "Mr Henry, could I please speak with you for a second?"

The large men had turned around and looked at the brown haired woman who was at least a foot smaller than him but didn't seem to be the slightest bit intimidated by him. Her politeness was cool and practiced and stood in contrast to the expression on her face. "You don't know me. My name is Nina Stewart." She held out her hand to him which briefly disappeared in Mark's enormous paw as he shook it.

"Mark Henry," the World's Strongest Athlete introduced himself somewhat redundantly, his deep voice echoing from the walls of the corridor.

"Nice to meet you," Nina replied, crossing her arms over her chest after their hand shake. The gesture made it clear that she was by no means delighted to meet the other man; in fact the opposite seemed to be true. She dished out some more of her cool politeness. "I'm a writer with the WWE. Stephen Farrelly is one of my charges..."

Stuart had the feeling that they would get to the heart of the matter any second now. He was almost tempted to rub his hands together in gleeful anticipation, but that would have been too childish.

Mark just nodded in acknowledgement of her words, oblivious to the fact that whatever the woman in front of him would have to say wouldn't be too nice. After years and years of playing the huge disgruntled heap of muscles, Mark must have developed an immunity to any form of dislike directed towards him.

"I understand you're going to go out there and beat him with a belt tonight...," Nina started. Her eyes had narrowed now and her tone was icy.

Mark seemed to acknowledge her presence for the first time since she had addressed him. He nodded. "That's correct."

"I would like to issue a polite warning concerning that..." Stuart had never heard of such a thing as a polite warning and the accusatory index finger Nina was stabbing into Mark's chest didn't seem very polite to him either, but he curiously continued to listen.

"The script says you're only supposed to hit his back. Should you however, let's say in the heat of the moment or out of inadvertence, hit any other part of his body, I'm going to have a very nice and long talk with your writer Vince. Maybe we can arrange a little fight against Ryback again and have him put you through a couple of tables..." Nina smiled a cold smile at the tall man that would have made the likes of Randy Orton proud.

Mark Henry stared at her for a while, then simply nodded at her and walked away. When he was out of sight, Nina turned around and let out a long exhale. She looked down at her own hands. They were shaking. When she raised her eyes, she finally spotted Stuart.

"Have you been standing here the whole time?" she asked him, shooting him an angry look.

"Well, someone had to watch your back, you daft cow!" he exclaimed and stormed off.

"Thanks, Stu," she called after him.

"You're bloody welcome!" he smiled with his back to her. He was out of view as soon as he rounded the next corner.

* * *

She could tell the match between Stuart and Stephen was winding down. Nina tore her eyes away from the TV screen and looked at Chris who was sitting next to her.

"I'm going to go now," she announced. "I don't wanna watch this. Are you going to give me a call when it's over? I'll go and have a smoke outside."

"You smoke?" he asked in surprise.

"Only when the shit hits the fan," she said darkly, quickly getting out of her seat.

She took one of the fire exits. Its door was already open. A brick was keeping the heavy door from falling shut. She stepped outside. A guy was standing there with his back to her. He was wearing army boots, black trousers and some sort of security vest. The whole outfit looked like the man belonged to a SWAT team. He was smoking a cigarette and turned to look over his shoulder when he heard her steps behind him. His hair had a weird color - half of it blonde, the other half dark.

She gave him a silent nod and got out her own pack of cigarettes which she had bought about five years back and always carried around in her bag in case of emergencies. There hadn't been too many of those emergencies. The pack was still half full.

Her lips closed around the cigarette and she produced a lighter from her bag. She struck the zippo lighter several times, but it wouldn't work. A soft chuckle reached her ear from her right and a hand holding a lighter with a flame dancing on top of it invaded her line of vision.

"Thanks," she muttered around the cigarette, taking her first drag. They stood there in companionable silence for a while, then, when she was halfway through her cigarette, her cellphone chirped. She threw the glowing contraption of tobacco and paper on the ground and extinguished it with a decisive twist of her boot heel.

She quickly got back inside. After she had stepped over the threshold of the door, she actually started running towards the stage exit. When she arrived there, he just came through it, looking all flushed and sweaty.

They had been careful about displays of affection in public and the corridor behind her was crawling with staff members and other people involved in the show, so she refrained from hugging him when she first laid eyes on him and let the doctor tend to him without making a fuss.

They made eye contact. He flinched when the physician touched his back, which she was yet to see. Judging by the concerned look on the medic's face, it wasn't a pretty sight, so she wisely refrained from looking at it for now.

She stepped in front of him. "Are you okay, Steve?" The concern in her voice was blatantly obvious and he doubted she would have been able to conceal it even if she had tried. He nodded, pressing his lips together tightly.

"How is he really, doc?"

Stephen's eyes momentarily flashed at her in anger. Why did she feel the need to ask the physician about his health when he had just told her he was fine himself?

"As to be expected. We already knew this would happen. He could give Django a run for his money though. He's probably going to feel this for a couple of days, but once we've put some soothing lotion on those welts, he should be relatively fine," the doctor told her calmly.

"Relatively fine. Okay," she gave him a mechanical nod. Nina was having some trouble processing the information she had just been given.

"Listen...," the doctor gave her a look that told her he was someone who was under way too much pressure with way too much responsibility on his shoulders. "One of the guys dislocated his shoulder tonight. Again. We need all hands we can get to hold him down and pop the joint back in, so you're on lotion duty." With that he trusted the lotion into her hands and left her standing there.

She looked down at the lotion in her hands and then at Stephen's sweaty face. "Okay, so where do we go for this?"

"My dressing room," he told her. "It's just down the corridor. Fifth door on the left." His voice sounded strained like he was hurting, so she felt compelled to finally have a look at his injuries.

"Let me have a look." The way she said those words made clear that this was by no means an order, rather a question or a gentle request.

Stephen however, was less accommodating than usual. He turned his back away from her when she tried to look at it. Like a stubborn child he didn't want to let her know what had happened to him and how much pain he was really in.

"Come on, Farrelly, don't be an ass, I'm just trying to help," she told him with a frown on her face.

"You're going to fuss. That's not gonna help," he told her matter-of-factly.

"I promise I'm not going to fuss." He still didn't look convinced. "Cross my heart...," she actually made the gesture.

"All right," he conceded eventually and let her have a look at his back. Just in time she reminded herself not to suck in her breath. The doctor had been right. It really looked bad. A zigzag pattern of welts marred his white skin. His fair complexion made the red marks stand out even more. She could even see the imprint of the belt buckle somewhere.

"Let's head to your dressing room," she said simply, suddenly feeling somewhat exhausted.

Fortunately his dressing room was really just a few steps away. They went inside; he closed the door behind them. The room was small and Spartan. There were two chairs, a small mirror and a table upon which she spotted his duffle bag.

Stephen promptly turned in front of the mirror and regarded the welts on his own back for the first time. "Bugger!" he swore. "Well, that's a sight for sore eyes." He was taking the situation very lightly, like being hurt was a minor inconvenience and something that happened a lot. It made her stomach lurch because she realized that for him it had to be like that. Wrestlers did suffer a lot of injuries. It was one thing being aware of it and an entirely different matter witnessing it first-hand. Out of her sense of self-preservation she decided to approach the whole situation from a practical perspective, not an emotional one. If she got emotional now, they would be screwed.

He heard the telltale screeching of chairs being dragged over the floor and turned around to look at her. She had arranged the chairs to stand behind each other. He looked at her questioningly. In her right and she was holding the bottle of lotion, in the left a towel from his bag.

"You wanna grab a shower before we rub on that lotion? Seems kind of stupid to do it the other way round," she said, handing him the towel. He winced as he took it from her. It wasn't a pleasant sensation when the muscles in his back moved underneath those welts.

"Come on, off you go. I'll be here when you get back," she told him. He nodded stiffly and took his bag with him, for once carrying it in his hand instead of slinging it over his shoulder. It just didn't seem like such a good idea now.

When he was gone, she sat down on one of those chairs and let her head sink to the table with a tired groan. "He's going to be the death of me. This man's really going to be the death of me," she said quietly into the empty room.

Her future cause of death, aka Stephen, came back about twenty minutes later and found her reading something on her cellphone. He had changed into his street clothes, though getting into that shirt he was wearing hadn't been such a pleasant experience. Now he would have to take it off again and try not to groan as much, because he didn't want to alert her to the fact that that he was in quite a bit of pain.

He started unbuttoning his shirt which felt awkward even though he had been prancing around in front of her wearing his wrestling gear minutes ago. His behavior was rather ridiculous and hypocritical, considering that his wrestling gear consisted of nothing more than a pair of trunks and boots.

When the shirt was unbuttoned and he was just about to take it off, she surprised him with her insightfulness. "Wait, I'm going to help you," she said softly and helped him out of his sleeves.

Nina folded the shirt and placed it over the desk. She turned around to face him again. "Sit down on that chair. I'm going to put some lotion on you."

The chair in the front was standing there with the backrest facing away from him. So obviously this was where she wanted him to sit down. He did as he was told and she took the chair behind him. He could hear her open that bottle of lotion and distribute some of it on her hands.

Very gingerly her fingers touched his shoulder. He flinched. They were cool against his skin which felt warm and burned like someone had poured acid over it.

"Relax!" she told him. Due to the proximity of her voice, he realized that she was now standing directly behind him. Apparently the chair had been too low.

Again her fingers touched his skin. This time even more cautiously than before, if that was at all possible. As she rubbed the lotion on his skin in soothing circular motions, the pain started to lessen.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward to place his arms on the backrest and rest his chin on them. She was slowly working her way down from his shoulders to his lower back. The sensation of pain faded more and more into the background and he slowly became aware of the fact that her soft fingers were stroking his skin and massaging lotion into it. By now she had distributed the lotion on his entire back. Her palms came to rest in his shoulder blades.

"All done," she said quietly. Her voice was low and close to his ear. "Better?"

"Yeah," Stephen cleared his voice. "Thank you, a mhuirnín," he said softly and got up.

He turned around to look at her. She was standing there in front of him, her hands glistening with the remainders of the oily lotion she had rubbed on his back.

"A mhuirnín?" she repeated the Gaelic word with some difficulty.

"Means 'my darling' in Gaelic," he told her almost shyly and started rummaging in his bag for a clean towel. He eventually found one and started cleaning her hands with it.

"Why do you have to make it so hard to stay mad at you?" she sighed in resignation.

"Because I'm that charming, I hope," he supplied. He was toweling off each of her fingers with meticulous care. Eventually he was done and threw the towel on the table beside them. "There," he said with a satisfied smile.

"Thanks," she said softly. He still held onto her hands. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure...," he said cautiously. He didn't like the fact that she was all serious and frowning.

"Why do you do this job? Is it because you like the adrenaline? Or because it pays well? Why?"

"Where do those questions come from all of a sudden?" He had let go of her hands by now.

"Do you really have to ask? Why don't you take another look at your back?" she leaned against the table behind her and regarded him expectantly. He still owed her an explanation.

"You're aware that that is a tough one, right?" she nodded and motioned him to continue. He took a deep breath. It was hard putting something into words that was that complex, but for her he tried to make an effort. "There are multiple reasons. One of them is: I do this job because I love it. Can you imagine what kind of a rush it is to have people cheering at you because you've given them a great show?" He regarded her face for a moment expectantly. Of course she couldn't. Even he hadn't been able to imagine what this job was like until he had accepted it. He tried a different approach. "This job is tough, it's challenging and dangerous, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's what I am good at. It's what I love. That's why I'm doing this job," he explained.

There had been something passionate in his voice that appealed to her and made her believe him. Still she had a hard time understanding why he did what he did.

"But don't you have any sense of self-preservation? Most people wouldn't be walking around thinking 'Well, what am I going to do today? Hmm, it's Monday. I know! I'll have a colleague put me through a table.' In case you forgot. Normal people don't do that kind of insane shit because it hurts and it's sort of crazy," she tried to reason with him.

"You haven't become aware of that in the last couple of months? How did that manage to escape your notice while you were making up storylines for two wrestlers?" he asked giving her a pointed look.

"Well, yes I have," she admitted becoming a bit fluster. His remark had hit a nerve. "But now the insanity is sort of closer to home because of us," she replied.

"What about us?" he asked conversationally, inspecting his nails as he was feigning complete ignorance.

"You know fully well, Steve. Don't try to digress from the topic."

"Al right," he agreed dejectedly. "You can't blame me. The one you've picked isn't a very pleasant one."

"Why?"

"Because it's about whether you can live with me doing what I do or not. There is a lot of stuff riding on that..."

"I know," she said gravely.

"Well, can you?" he looked at her directly now, his face was for once completely serious. No smiles. He was just waiting for her answer, prancing himself for the worst possible outcome.

"Can I live with you doing your job? Yes, I think I can. Can I pretend not to mind when you suffer an injury as a result of doing that job? No," she shook her head vehemently. "Because it would mean I don't care about you, which is definitely not true. I care about you a lot, so I can't give you a thumbs-up and a smile when you pull stupid stunts like that."

"I don't expect you too. The only thing I want is for you to accept that it's part of the package," he told her, studying her face as he said those words to her. "Can you do that?"

She briefly looked down and then met his eyes again. "I'm here, aren't I? Haven't I just rubbed lotion on all those welts? That looks pretty accepting to me."

"Yeah, it does," he smiled and noticed how she almost shyly averted her gaze when she looked at him now. There was a soft blush on her nose which made his smile turn into a grin.

"Why are you blushing?" he asked.

"'Cause I've just realized a handsome, half-naked Irishman is standing right in front of me. Actually has been for the last 20 minutes or so," she admitted, blushing even more as she said those words. "That takes some getting used to."

"Maybe it should happen more often," he told her and took the opportunity to clasp her hands in his.

His thumbs traced over her wrists. Underneath them he briefly felt her pulse. It seemed to be rather quick, but maybe he was wrong about that. He noticed how her eyes that had before settled on their entwined hands, travelled up his arms and from there to his chest.

She let out a nervous chuckle. "You know, this is kind of funny. At the office we have this huge Extreme Rules poster of you in the entrance hall. You are wearing even less in that than you are now. So how come I can walk passed it every day and it leaves me unaffected while standing next to you does this to me?"

"Wanna let me in on what 'this' is?" he asked.

She chewed her bottom lip pensively before she eventually shook her head. "No. Let's just say it's the opposite of unaffected and leave at that, okay?"

"The opposite of unaffected. Really?" he raised his eyebrow. "That's quite something." He whistled through his teeth. The blush he had noticed before was now also beginning to spread on her cleavage. He tried not to ogle, but it was difficult, especially since any flushed area of her skin was like an exclamation mark with the rest of it being so pale.

"Really," she confirmed. "And I'm quite surprised by that. I'm usually not into muscles."

"Maybe you're with the wrong guy then," he smirked at her.

She frowned at him. "I'm not with you because of your muscles."

"Why are you with me then?" he asked. The sincerity in his gaze made her pause.

She looked away for a second. She was biting her lips, apparently unsure of whether she was supposed to answer him or not. "You really want me to say that now?" she looked at him sort of shyly. This was unusual for her. He knew her as someone impulsive, energetic, cheeky, determined, witty, but definitely not shy.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, because it's sort of complex. It's not something simple like "I like you because you're handsome" or "I like you because you make me laugh"... I'm not even sure that makes sense." It was ironic how she the writer was struggling with words. It must have occurred to her too because she let out a frustrated groan.

"Gosh! This is irritating! Don't look at me like that. Why don't I take off my top and we'll see how much sense you'll be making?" she glared at him.

"By all means. Go ahead!" He crossed his arms over his chest which made his muscles more pronounced.

"Oh, just put on a shirt and stop gloating, will you?" She lightly swatted him on the upper arm.

"All right," he laughed and reached for his shirt. For the first time in a good couple of minutes he was suddenly and rather unpleasantly reminded of the welts on his back.

She noticed him flinching as he put his arm through the right sleeve of his shirt and quickly moved to help him into the other one.

Normally he was very self-sufficient and wouldn't have tolerated being mothered by anyone, but he knew she was not doing it out of pity. She was doing it because she wanted to, so he let it happen without making a fuss.

He never uttered a word of protest not even when she swatted away his fingers and buttoned the shirt up. She even rolled up his sleeves like it was the most natural thing in the world and he watched her with a tender expression on his face.

"There you go," she said when she was finally finished.

"Thank you," he told her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head.

* * *

They had agreed to meet up later at his hotel room. Of course "later" was a rather unspecific time. She had tried to get something less vague out of him. He had just shrugged his shoulders, not being very helpful. "Any time you like," he told her.

So now here she was softly knocking at the door, hoping that he would soon open it because her other hand, which was holding a champagne bucket filled with ice cubes minus the champagne, was about to freeze off. She had decided not to bring any champagne because that would have been way too tacky and she wasn't sure it was a good idea mixing the sexual tension between them with alcohol. Yes, she found him very attractive, but she preferred to take it slow, especially with all those complications waiting to bite them in the ass.

The door was opened and her pensiveness evaporated when she laid eyes on him. "Hi." He smiled at her, but that smile was soon replaced by a puzzled look when his eyes landed on the bucket of ice she was carrying around.

"What's that for?" he asked as she sauntered past him to deposit the bucket on the next best surface available which happened to be some nondescript little glass table that served as decoration for the hotel room.

She shook her hand and turned to look at him. "For your back?" she supplied with a grin. "I'm being supportive."

"So you're that desperate to get me shirt off again?" He smiled, closing the door to the corridor.

"Ooooh! Careful, hot shot! Not that desperate. We can also stuff those ice cubes down your pants if you need some cooling down," she grinned.

"You wouldn't dare to," he told her and took a step towards her.

"What makes you say that? Obviously you don't know me all that well." With a smile she took one step towards him as well. There was something mischievous about her smile which had him on his toes. She slung her arms around his waist. He looked down at her with raised eyebrows. It was a wordless enquiry after what she was up to. Her right hand abruptly tugged up his shirt, while her left hand delved underneath it and touched the naked skin of his back. Her palm was ice-cold. He sucked in his breath trying not to make any unmanly high-pitched sounds.

"A bit chilly," he told her with practiced nonchalance.

"Your skin feels like it's on fire," she told him looking at him through narrowed, disapproving eyes. She put her other hand under his shirt to make sure that she hadn't been wrong in her initial judgment because of her cold hand. "No, still rather warm. Take off your shirt," she instructed.

"You make that sound so seductive," he joked, but nevertheless started unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm here on nurse duty, sweetheart," she admonished him. "Hence the ice cubes."

"I see," he smirked, clearly amused by her antics. "Where do you want me? You can have me anywhere you like. Couch? Bed? Floor?" He threw the shirt at her with a smirk and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Are you flirting or teasing?" She threw him a stern gaze.

"A bit of both actually," he watched her deposit his shirt on the little table where she had put the ice bucket before, which she was now holding in her hands again.

"Well, then I'm sure you won't mind if I tease you right back a little," she winked at him. "I think...," she tapped her index finger against her chin pensively, "I'll go with the bed. Lead the way, my little Irish stud."

Stephen actually laughed at that term of endearment. He rather liked the mood she was in tonight. As always she was rather upfront, but there was a certain playfulness to her bluntness.

He turned and led her to the bedroom. Automatically her eyes travelled over his injured back and took inventory. It did already look better than this afternoon. Perhaps, if he was lucky, most of those welts would have faded in a couple of days. But for some reason she couldn't see him sleeping on his back tonight.

They were inside the bedroom now. It was modern and cream colored. There was a huge window front next to the king-sized bed. His room was roughly the same as hers; just that it was overlooking the city and not the parking lot.

He didn't switch on the light and she supposed that it was just as well. The bluish twilight inside the room would be enough for them.

Without her needing to say something he stretched out on the bed with his back facing up. He propped up his chin on his arms, so the muscles on his back were more pronounced.

She hesitated, but only for the fraction of a second. Just like this afternoon they were yet again crossing another boundary here. This thing going on between them, whatever it was, was becoming increasingly more intimate and leading to a point of no return.

Nina made a decision and took a step forward. She kicked off her shoes and positioned the ice bucket on the bedside table, so it was comfortably within reach.

The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. She reached inside the ice bucket and took out one single ice cube. For a few seconds she held it in the palm of her hand and it quickly became coated in water.

"Here it comes," she said, bringing the ice cube down on his skin. He let out a hiss followed by a little "ah" sound that made her insides tingle. Her palm formed a cup around the ice cube and she started rubbing it over his skin in slow circular motions. It left a trail of water in its wake.

"How does that feel?" she asked. She had to wait a little for a reply.

"Like I've died and gone to heaven," was his answer. His voice was soft and it appealed to a side of her she would have rather left outside of this room for today. She could feel desire stirring up inside her... again. She had tried to deny the fact that it had been there since he first kissed her, but at this point there was no more deny. She had to acknowledge it.

The slightest or tremors ran through her arm when she started moving it again. "This is a once in a lifetime thing. Better not get used to it," she told him in a gentle, yet admonishing voice.

She felt his muscles ripple underneath her hands when he turned his head in an attempt to look at her. He only briefly managed to make eye contact thanks to the position he was in. "The ice cubes or you being inside a bedroom with me?"

"The ice cubes," she sighed after a moment of careful contemplation.

He chuckled. The bed underneath them shook together with his chest. She raised the ice cube from his skin.

"What if I get a sunburn...," he teased.

"That's a stupid idea," she said softly. "You don't have to resort to self-mutilation. I'm quite positive it's enough to ask nicely if you like it this much." Some water trickled down her arm and onto his back. A shiver went through his body. She lowered the ice cube to his skin again.

"What else can I get if I ask nicely?" his questions had taken a dangerous turn now. They made her all too aware of the fact that this situation wasn't quite PG-13 anymore. He was lying half naked on a bed in front of her and she was rubbing an ice cube over his back too sooth his pain.

"I don't know...," she said with a soft smile. "Lots of things."

He turned around abruptly. A wave of adrenaline flooded her system as his fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her down towards his chest. "What about a kiss?" he asked. "You haven't kissed me properly ever since the airport."

"'Cause I don't want this to spin out of control," she said. He had by now let go of her hand. It was resting on his naked chest. She became aware of it and wanted to pull it back; he placed his over it and held it in place.

"Why?" He asked.

She licked her lips. "Because I'm risking a lot here. There is work - Yes, but that's not the thing I worry about most... It's that I tend to be too impulsive, or maybe that's the wrong word... Too enthusiastic? I dive into things head first and sometimes I end up cracking my skull open. I don't want us to mess this up. I want to do this properly, like an adult."

He smiled at her words and raised her hand to his mouth to kiss it. His whiskers felt rough against the back of her hand, but not unpleasant. "So we're going to talk about what this is then and admit that this is serious..."

She smiled. Her white teeth flashed in the twilight of the room. "Serious? How serious exactly?"

"Very," he said quietly. Her smile grew bigger. She leaned down to kiss him. His mouth opened underneath hers invitingly, the tips of their tongues touched, he pulled her closer against his chest, she felt his heart racing as her torso was pressed flush against his.

"Stephen..." She probably meant to admonish him, but his name was almost a moan when it fell from her lips and woke up something primal inside him. His imagination supplied him with a lot of vivid pictures of other incidents during which she could be calling out his name like that. He balled his hands into fists and tried to keep his composure. He was quite good at that. After all he had to carefully reign in emotions like anger and fear in the ring every day. Desire was new to him, but he would try for her.

"Nina...," he said softly. They silently regarded each other for a while in the twilight before he pulled her down against his chest.

"We've still got miles to cover before we get there," his hand patted her back in reassurance. He could feel her cheek resting against his sternum and the hot gusts of her exhales on his skin.

"Miles?" He heard her ask with a smile. "Honey, looks like a very short distance from where I am... We're lying in your bed in a hotel suite and you've got no shirt on."

He laughed. "And I also have a bruised back which makes it hard for me to lie down longer than twenty minutes..."

"Oh, sorry! I should...," she said as she became aware that right now she was forcing him to be lying down on the aforementioned injured back. Nina started to sit up, but he quickly grabbed her and pulled her back down.

"No, you stay."

"Okay," she said and sounded rather happy about it.

They were silent for a while and enjoyed the feeling of lying there in each other's arms.

"Those ice cubes are melting," he informed her regretfully and she could hear their telltale rattle when he peeked over the edge of the bucket.

"Yeah..," she answered, unsure why he was pointing something that obvious out to her.

"Take off your top," he told her abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Her wide brown eyes met his blue ones and registered the playful sparkle in them with a certain preoccupation.

"Hell, this is going to end badly...," she summed up the situation.

He laughed at her and shook his head. "Maybe for me because I'll need a very cold shower afterwards, but not for you."

"What are you up to?" She asked suspiciously.

"I'm a very polite fella, I wanna return the favor." He could have tempted the devil to start singing in a church choir with that smile and Nina had no chance whatsoever against it as well.

"Ok," she finally agreed after a moment of hesitation.

She sat up slowly. She could feel his eyes follow the movement of her hands. She grabbed the hem of her top and tugged it over head. Underneath she was wearing a simple black bra. When she looked at him, she could see how his eyes were mesmerized with her breasts. He was only a man after all.

Nina reached out her hand and gently placed her fingers under his chin. "Eyes up, Steve," she told him with a smile.

"I'm not going to say sorry for that," he informed her with a smirk.

"You don't have to."

Nina shivered when he touched her bare shoulders and gently turned her around. She stretched out on the bed, resting her chin on the back of her arms. The sheets smelt like him and her nostrils quivered slightly at her next intake of breath.

The mattress dipped when he leaned forward to grab an ice cube from the bucket and sat down again. The sudden sensation of something cold and watery against her skin was unpleasant at first, but then she focused on the way his hand was moving over her back and her eyes drifted shut. She let out a small moan-like sound that expressed some of the profound contentment she felt. The hand on her back faltered, but then resumed its previous activity.

The ice cube was gliding over her skin in curves that formed upstrokes and downstrokes. "Are you writing something?" she giggled.

"Yeah, me name," he told her.

Nina laughed. "You're such a big child. Marking your territory, huh?" She turned as well as she could to have a proper look at him.

"Yeah, gotta be on me toes. You're too beautiful and smart not to turn any heads," he told her.

"I don't want to turn any heads. I'm in quite enough trouble as things are right now..."

"Trouble?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, as in you..."

He smiled and gently turned her on her back. The ice cube was still in his hand. He traced it over her belly and when he was finished, its trail of condensation water formed some little swirls and circles that were glistening in the twilight.

"Very artistic," she smiled and there was a light quiver in her voice that told him she was only playing it cool. "And also very cute," she added, looking at him through hooded eyes.

The ice cube slipped from his fingers when he leaned down to press one single chaste kiss to the skin left and right of her belly button. Her body trembled underneath his lips. When he looked up, he saw that she was breathing rather fast now.

He kissed her. The kiss was passionate, open mouth and took a turn towards desperate and frantic as soon as tongues got involved. He felt her squirm underneath him. Her body arched up into his, she was making sounds that drove him crazy. The only thing that put a damper on what was happening was the fact that it hurt whenever she touched his back. Not enough to let him break the kiss, but just enough to keep his mind functioning and not let his entire intellectual capacity migrate to a place much lower.

His instincts told him to continue, to go through with this, but his rational mind told him "no". He wanted to be fully functioning when they did this and not flinch back every time she touched his back. Right now even holding her was off the menu because he was in pain.

He rolled off of her and stretched out on the mattress with a groan. "Damnú aír!"

As to be expected her slightly concerned face soon hovered over him.

"I assume that isn't a term of endearment..."

"Oh, no. Definitely not," he said between clenched teeth, trying to fight down his bodily reaction to their snogfest.

"Should I go?" she asked him, sounding a little worried.

"No. You're staying," he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this. I must have completely gone daft now, but maybe you should put your top back on."

"Steve?" she looked at him, taking in his disheveled hair and the despairing expression on his face. Her heart was melting for him and that wasn't a pun in reference to the ice cubes.

"Yeah? What?"

She leaned down and pressed a single lasting kiss to each of his temples. "Thank you."

"Whatever for, a mhuirnín? For leaving both of us hot and bothered without being able to follow through?"

"It's because of your back, right?" she threw him an ironic smirk.

"What else could it be?" he looked at her with a frown.

"Oh, I don't know...," she grinned smugly. "Ever heard of erectile dis..."

She didn't get to finish the sentence. He pulled her on top of him, so that her whole body was pressed flush against his. "You wanna finish that sentence now, lass?" The situation at hand did nothing to dissolve the sexual tension between them. Judging by the look on her face, it had gone from surprise to something else, her situation wasn't much different from his. He cautiously called the expression on her face "something else", because if he did start to analyze what the fact that she licked her lips and looked down meant, he would lose control.

"No, I don't," she croaked out eventually. He loosened his hold on her and she slowly almost reluctantly rolled off of him.

He let out another groan of frustration and hit the mattress with his fits. More cursing in Gaelic ensued.

She could very much relate to how he was feeling. "If it helps any, I kind of feel the same," she admitted quietly.

He looked at her, blinking slowly a couple of times. "Don't say that. That only makes it worse."

"Well, what am I supposed to say then?"

"We could talk about the penis fish and how it likes to get nice and comfy in men's langers," he suggested, with desperation edged in his voice.

She actually laughed at his remark and kissed his forehead. "You're even funnier when you're horny."

"Yeah, orgasms with me are a laugh riot. You should give it a try," he shot back.

"Maybe I should put my top back on," she smiled.

"Yes? No? Kill me now, please," he said rubbing his hands over his face in frustration.

"No, not gonna happen. That would be such a waste," she smiled and pulled her T-shirt over her head. He commented her action with yet another frustrated groan.

"How's your back?" Nina tried to distract him.

"A bit better."

"You think you'll be able to sleep on it?" She sat down at the mattress next to him.

"Yes."

She gave him a pointed look.

"Alright. No," he admitted. "Happy?"

"No, but I've got an idea...," she smiled at him and there was something every so subtly preoccupying about that smile.

"What? Pain killers?"

"Alcohol," she suggested.

"You're sure getting drunk is such a good idea?" He sat up. She was sitting across from him Indian style. There was a beaming smile on her face.

"I think it's an excellent idea. It'll distract us from... Well, each other. We'd be out and about and among other people. Plus, your back would hurt less...We'd just need a chaperon or chaperones to pull this off... How about you give Stu and Chris a call?" Her face was lightening up even more as she revealed her plan to him.


	12. Three Guys and A Girl

**Author's note:**_ Ta-daaaa! Early update. I'm going to embark on a little personal adventure tomor__row and will not be able to update during the weekend__._

_First of all, let me thank you all for reading and putting up with this un-betafied gem. _

_Most of this chapter is a result of massive editing. I was originally only going to do a short scene of the guys heading out to a bar, but it spun out of control and now the 'little scene' spans over a couple of pages. I know, I know, massive author's note…BORING. Let's get on with it then._

_I do occasionally play darts, but I have to admit I've never played Killer, so I had to read up on that game on the Internet. Sorry, in case I've gotten a few things wrong. I'm aware there are different variations to the game, so I decided on the one that was easiest to explain…_

_Let me quickly point out a few references to things I love (AND DO NOT OWN) and simply had to cramp into this chapter. We've got:_

_One Oscar Wilde quote_

_A reference to "The Pogues" and their brilliant song "Sally MacLennane"_

_A reference to "The Curse of Monkey Island" (Do you remember that game?)_

_Metallicaaaaa!_

"_The Fields of Athenry" covered by the Pogues, Dropkick Murphys, the Dubliners… Well, anyone really. _

* * *

They were a rather odd group: three men and one woman. It sounded like the beginning of some clichéd romance novel or a teaser for a romantic comedy at the movies. Well, the evening turned out to be vastly entertaining and not all that romantic.

Stuart, Chris, Stephen and Nina shared a cab which brought them to a bar the man behind the hotel reception had pointed out to them. It turned out a sports bar much to the men's delight and her dismay.

They had just ordered a pitcher of beer which the waitress was now bringing to their table. She was balancing the various glass objects on her tray with practiced ease. Nina knew without a doubt in her mind that if she were the one carrying that tray, there would have long since been broken glasses, spilled beer and an overall mess.

"A pitcher for you guys?" waitress had to ask, because they hadn't placed their order with her before. Her voice was rather nasal and squeaky and carried well over the background noise of the bar.

Her question was answered by a lot of nods, so she placed the order on the table and quickly scurried off again. The place was busy and they had retreated to a booth in the corner, so they would be less conspicuous.

Nina was sitting next to Stephen, underneath the table her left leg was resting against his right one. He occasionally placed his hand on her knee, but apart from that they were rather cautious about being affectionate with each other in public. Of course nothing escaped Stuart's keen observational abilities.

"Well, you two love birds," the irony was dripping from his voice and made Chris grin and Stephen and Nina scoot apart, "what's the point and purpose of this little outing? Not that I'm too keen on sitting around and watching the telly at my hotel room..."

"It's strictly speaking therapeutic," Nina told him and Chris nearly choked on his first sip of beer in surprise. "Stephen's back is hurting. I figured beer's better than painkillers. I'm all about homeopathy. That's how I roll," she shrugged her shoulders with a devilish grin on her face, which immediately clarified to anyone sharing the table with her that she wasn't being serious. "Besides he's Irish... What did you expect?"

Laughter ensued and drowned out Stephen's meek protest. He eventually decided to slightly bump his leg against hers and throw her an admonish glance. "Oi, I resent that..."

"Of course you do," she winked at him. "Now drink your medicine."

"Listen to her, Farrelly. You'd be hard pressed to find another bird like her who tells you to shut your trap and have a drink. Brilliant advice," Stuart toasted Nina with his glass across the table.

"Shut your gob, Stu!" Stephen told him after he had drunk and put down his glass again.

"Here we go again..." Chris rolled his eyes.

"Again?" Nina asked in alarm.

"You've got to know that those two are the worst drunks in existence," he told her drinking from his own beer, probably in order to be able to tolerate the others' company.

Stephen and Stuart were still too busy squabbling, so they couldn't protest against Chris' remark. Nina used the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. "How so?"

"Well for one thing they always start singing at some point. First they start out with soccer songs, then all bets are off. I hope you brought your earplugs."

Nina shook her head with a grin. "Soccer songs?"

"Yeah, didn't you know? They're both soccer fanatics."

"It's football," both men corrected him in unison. Apparently that was something they both saw eye to eye on.

"Okay, football," Nina rolled her eyes. "As older sister to a brother I get being obsessed with sports, but I don't get football. What's so great about that?"

Both men shot her disbelieving looks like she was a Martian who had just come down to earth and threatened the human species with extinction.

"She's your responsibility, Steve. Be gentle. Remember she doesn't know any better," Stuart rested his hand on his friend's shoulder as if he was offering condolences.

"Careful, Red was once a football player himself," Chris whispered to her discreetly.

"How do you explain football to a non-believer, Stu? You wanna tell me?" Stephen asked, throwing Nina a speculative sidelong glance.

"You've got to take her to see a match," the Brit suggested with a frown on his face that indicated that this was a very serious problem that had to be solved with diligence and diplomacy.

Nina took a sip of her beer. She had a feeling that if she didn't take action soon this night would turn into a long-winded discussion about how great football was and judging by Chris' equally preoccupied face she was rather close to the truth.

"So you were a football player before you started wrestling, Steve? You've never told me," Nina said. She had the intention of slowly steering the conversation in another direction. "Any other hidden talents I should be aware of?"

He grinned and took another drink from his beer. "I worked as a bodyguard and an IT technician before I got into wrestling," he told her with a shrug.

She shot him an incredulous look. "Okay, I get the bodyguard thing. But IT technician? It's kind of hard imagining you doing that..."

"Haven't you noticed me nimble fingers?" He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers at her.

Nina decided to raise an eyebrow. "You're pulling my leg."

"No, it's true. It's hard to believe, but he is kind of useful to have around when you've got problems with your computer," Chris told her with a sigh.

"Okay, so now you have me curious. What did you guys do before you started wrestling?" Her eyes inevitably landed on Stuart.

"Well, precious, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours..."

Nina smiled. So that was how we wanted to play it… "My parents were both professors for American literature at university. So you could say I've kind of picked up the family trade. I've got a BA, PhD in English literature and did a brief stint as a lecturer at the University of Hartford..."

The three men regarded her with matching looks of disbelief. "Why in the bleeding hells did you give up that job?" Stuart finally asked the question that was on the tip of everybody's tongue.

She just shrugged her shoulders casually. "Cause it was boring? To spite my mum? I don't know..." To the outside word it must have seemed like she was joking, but she in fact she was covering up another issue she didn't want to talk about.

"You know I really like you, honey, but I think you've just made up that story," Chris patted her shoulder condescendingly.

She grinned at him. There was something subtly dangerous to that smile. It was easy to miss, but not to someone who spent a lot of time with her. Contrary to the other two men, Stephen, despite already feeling the beer taking its first effect, could tell there was danger looming at the horizon.

"Chris, have a little faith in me. Do you think I could quote Oscar Wilde by heart if I was lying? Cause I can. Would you like to hear? It's one of my favorites."

Stuart and Chris nodded in unison, apparently still not able to believe her.

She started talking. Her voice caressed those words and clearly enunciated them in a way that had her small audience captivated. Perhaps all those years in drama club were finally paying off or perhaps it was because Oscar Wilde was one of her all time literary heroes. No matter what exactly it was, the way she spoke had the three men hanging from her lips. "Behind joy and laughter there may be a temperament, coarse, hard and callous. But behind sorrow there is always sorrow. Pain, unlike pleasure, wears no mask...There are times when sorrow seems to me to be the only truth. Other things may be illusions of the eye or the appetite, made to blind the one and cloy the other, but out of sorrow have the worlds been built, and at the birth of a child or a star there is pain."

When she was finished there was a moment of silence around the table. She raised her left eyebrow impishly. "Gentlemen, I thought you being wrestlers would enjoy this little literary excursion into the philosophical nature of the word 'pain'. Why the long faces?" She took a sip from her beer as if it was something classy like a Martini, looking at the liquid inside the glass with fake interest while she waited for the ball to drop.

"Bugger me!" Stuart summed up what had just happened with a raucous bout of laughter. "Now telling you that I used to be a marine biologist seems pretty unspectacular."

"No, it's still quite spectacular," she assured him with a smile. "So a marine biologist..." Nina tried to envision Stuart in a white lab coat and succeeded to her own surprise.

"You are down-right scary," Chris told her with an appreciative grin. For a second she thought he was referring to her ability of imaging Stuart dressed up like proper scientist, but what he was really talking about was her ability to quote literature off the top of her head.

Only Stephen regarded her with a frown on his face. "Why did you really quit your job?"

"Why did you quit yours?" Nina shot back. She was still as quick as lightning after a glass of beer. Hadn't she told him she was a lightweight? Apparently that wasn't true for beer.

"Cause I wanted to pursue me dream," he said without having to give his answer much thought. It was met with general approval around the table. There were nods and sympathetic glances.

"Same reason here," she reassured him.

"Still it's kind of hard to believe that after being an university lecturer, your dream entails working as a writer for the WWE," Stephen gave her a stern look. He didn't want to let this issue go, especially since he could sense there was more to it than met the eye.

It seemed like he would have to wait a while for her answer. She first regarded the liquid inside her glass for a while pensively, then his face. "It's a good job, but no."

"So?" Stuart asked bluntly.

"I'm a writer," she shrugged. "I want to write, not tell other people what good writing looks like. But enthusiasm and a dream don't pay any bills."

"Does that mean you've got a book lying around in one of those drawers at home?" Chris asked.

She smiled. "Maybe."

"Maybe always means 'yes'. It's just a sneaky way around actually saying it," Stuart proclaimed.

Nina laughed. The sulky Brit was starting to grow on her more and more. She raised her glass to toast him. "I love that line. Mind if I steal it?"

"If you don't put those words in the mouth of a complete tosser...," he said with his typical scowl.

"Right, cause it's not like they didn't come out of the gob of one either...," Stephen threw Stuart a shit-eating grin. The Brit's facial expression turned from a mild scowl to a hide-the-children-a-storm-is-coming scowl.

"Charming, guys! You're the best company a lady could wish for." Nina took great care to break the eye contact between the two men by leaning forward with a derisive smirk on her face. "Hey, Chris? How do you put up with them?" She threw the blonde wrestler a speculative gaze as she pointed her thumbs at both Stuart and Stephen.

"I pour my grief and sorrow into angry, loud rock music," he grinned. Great, unfortunately that wasn't an option for her.

"Hmm I'm not that good a singer. I'll just have a second beer then, I guess," she shrugged and reached for the pitcher.

"Allow me," Stephen poured her a second glass. The smile on his face and his sudden and rather clumsy display of manners indicated he felt like he had something to make up for. She just grinned at him and nodded.

"Allow me," Stuart mockingly repeated on the other side of the table. The Irishman fixed him with a death glare as he poured himself a second glass as well.

Nina let out a loud groan and banged her head against the table. Chris patted her back with a condescending smile. "Welcome the insanity that is the WWE, sweetheart. Enjoy!"

"Great!" she answered. She looked up and inevitably her eyes connected with that beer that was still standing in front of her. It was golden and beautiful and promised sweet oblivion. She reached for it and started drinking. They were waiting for her to put the glass back down, but she only did after she had emptied it.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand under Stephen's incredulous stare.

"I can't believe you've just done that…" he said.

"She has," Stuart grinned. "You know that's a bit brilliant actually. Cheers!" He took a deep drink from his glass as if he felt the need to ascertain his manliness by keeping up with Nina.

Stephen scooted a bit closer to her, a look of concern on his face. "How do feel?"

"Good. A bit tipsy perhaps," she shook herself and made a face, which he found rather adorable.

"Tipsy?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Wait a second...," she held out her hand like a fortune teller over a crystal ball. "The vote's still out on that one. Hmm sorry, I seem to be sloshed." Nina made a regretful face. "Who am I kidding?" She giggled. "Not that sorry.

"We should cut her off...," Chris suggested.

"Nah, this will be your chance to find out whether she can hold her liquor, Farrelly. You wanna let it pass you by?" Stuart grinned placing his empty glass on the table.

"Not going to happen, Stu. This is not some bloody experiment!" Stephen told off his friend before he turned his head to address Nina. "I'm cutting you off, luv," he announced.

The young woman seemed thoroughly unimpressed. "Awww! Is that your concerned face?" Nina reached out her hand to pinch his cheek. "So adorable!"

The two other men chuckled. Stephen tried to silence them with an angry glare, but failed. Somehow his authority had been undermined by Nina telling him he was adorable and pinching him in the cheek.

"I'll tell you something. You're not cutting me off. I'm daring you to draw even, Stephen," she giggled at the fact that she had inadvertently managed to make her sentence rhyme at the end.

He shot her an incredulous look.

"Come on, Celtic Warrior, you wanna chicken out?" she pushed the beer in his direction.

The words "chicken out" did not exist in his vocabulary, so his fingers closed around the beer and he downed it in one go. He shook his head afterwards as if to ward off the dizziness that would soon come over him. It crept in from the corners of his mind and rolled over him like a warm blanket.

"Ah'll be damned," his Irish accent was particularly thick now in his freshly acquired state of moderate inebriation. His cheeks were rosy.

"Welcome to the dark side, babe," she planted a noisy and a bit wet kiss on his cheek before she leaned back in her seat with a content grin. "You know, that feels just about right. Drunk enough to not give a shit, sober enough to be still in control of those klutzy extremities. Feels awesome. No need to ruin a perfectly nice little alcoholic buzz with more drinking. I'm cutting myself off."

"Bossy, smart and able to hold her liquor? She's a keeper, mate. Mark my words," Stuart stage whispered to Stephen across the table.

"Don't you think I know that?" The Irishman replied not bothering or able to hide his completely smitten smirk.

"Oh yeah, she'll be even more of a keeper if she doesn't hurl all over us on the taxi ride back to the hotel," Chris said. As he was the only one relatively sober, sarcasm was still part of his repertoire.

The three men finished off the pitcher between themselves in the next 20 minutes or so. Their conversation was becoming increasingly more animated and humorous. For once Nina was content to just listen. On their way to the parking lot, however, she decided to ask one well-timed question. It was clever from a strategic point of view in so far as she was now sober enough again to fully appreciate the immediate consequences of that particular question.

"So Chris told me you two would be singing at some point of the evening. I'm disappointed. You're not even going to sing me one little song, boys?"

Stephen squeezed her hand. When they had left the bar, he had reached for it and never let go of it since. He briefly exchanged glances with Stuart. "Come on. Let's be nice for a change..."

"Alright," the Brit amended.

"Whiskey in the Jar?" Stephen asked.

Stuart nodded. "Metallica classic."

"I know the text to this one. Count me in," Chris announced.

They started singing, their loud voices belting out the song over the parking lot. Nina smiled. Unfortunately the taxi arrived before they could finish the song.

"You should think about starting a cappella band, boys," she suggested with a cheeky grin as she got in the taxi and promptly bumped her head against the car roof in the process. "Owww!" Nina whined loudly.

"You okay?" Stephen asked her with a concerned frown in his face as he sat down next to Nina who was still rubbing her head.

"Yeah, yeah," she waved him off. "Just the usual foray into klutziness. Nothing major. Don't mind me."

Now the other guys got in the taxi as well. Chris took the front seat, which left Stuart in the back, so Nina ended up sandwiched between Stephen and the door. He threw her a smile and laid his arm around her shoulder to pull her against his side. Suddenly having to squeeze into the back wasn't so bad anymore.

"So where to?" the taxi driver asked.

"I would kill for a round of darts now," Stuart said.

Stephen nodded. "If anything me aim improves after a couple of pints..."

"We do have an Irish pub in town where you can shoot some darts. You want me to drop you off there, guys?" the driver asked.

"Hold on a second! Sorry, man. This has nothing to do with you," Chris told the driver. He turned around in his seat to face his friends. "Are you all crazy? Darts and alcohol?! What's the worst that could happen? You poke out each other's eyes," Chris shook his head incredulously at their suggestion. "Your vote, Nina?"

"It's only 11 and I don't feel like heading back to the hotel yet...," she shrugged her shoulders apologetically.

"Crazy chick," Chris muttered.

"At the O'Shaunessy's they also have live music...," the driver tried to advertise the local pub some more to them.

"What?" Stuart laughed.

"Wait a minute? Have you just said O'Shaunessy's?" Stephen asked with a mad sparkle in his eyes.

"That's correct," the driver confirmed.

"Alright, now we definitely need to go there," Nina grinned.

"Atta girl." Stuart held out his hand to her for a high five. She slapped it and he grinned.

Five minutes later they were over at the pub. Chris, who had spent the taxi ride muttering to himself ill-humoredly, was somewhat reconciled with the situation because of the live music. Upon entering the pub he briefly paused and you could almost see him perk his ears. He listened for a few seconds, his face a mask of concentration, before he finally announced his verdict. "Not half bad."

The bar was done up like an Irish pub, but there were some things that ever so subtly reminded you that you were still in the States, like the CNN news broadcast up on the screen over the bar and the tacky Miller's neon sign right next to it. Those minor glitches however, didn't seem to affect the popularity of the place. They were lucky to find a table because a group of people was just leaving. Stephen pulled his baseball cap a little lower into his face when the men of the group threw them some curious glances. He mentally prepared himself for the sentence "Wait a second, aren't you...?", which never came because Nina was clever enough to distract the men by chewing off their ears with some small talk. She unleashed all her talkativeness on them. Stephen had to grin. As Nina was close to telling them the long and colorful story of her life, they quickly made their escape. She, in turn, sank down on her seat with an exhausted groan.

"Small talk - the art of wasting your time by talking about stuff that's completely unimportant. Beats me how someone can enjoy that," she shook her head, unable to comprehend how some people could be so good at it. It was exhausting trying to keep a conversation politely detached. She preferred to get straight to the heart of matters, not traipse around it.

"You have my sympathies," Stuart, an equally apt small-taker himself, said and slapped her on the back. With that he turned around and made his way over to the bar to ask the bartender if one of the dartboards was free, which left Stephen, Chris and Nina alone at the table.

Stephen tried to talk to her, but the roar of the music was so loud, she couldn't understand him. He raised his voice and leaned closer to her.

"I said: Ever tried an Irish Car Bomb?"

Nina made a face and gave him an uncertain look. "No, what's that?"

"A drink. Guinness, Jameson, Irish Cream," he counted off the ingredients on his fingers.

"Back at the other bar you were going to cut me off...," she pointed out with a grin.

"Yeah, but then I thought we get to be responsible adults for the rest of our lives. Why not be a bit irresponsible for once? What do you say, luv?" He flashed her one of those irresistible smiles of his. She indicated him with a hand gesture that she might need to think about that for a second. "Come on, lass...," he pouted.

"Alright. Fine," she told him and he pressed a wet kiss to her cheek.

"That's my girl," he said proudly.

"Yuck!" she rubbed at her cheek exaggeratedly. "No need to slobber all over my cheek!"

Stephen just shrugged her shoulders at her, completely unapologetic. "I'm going to get us some drinks. Are you in as well, mate?" he asked Chris. He was already standing next to the table about to head over to the bar to get their drinks.

"Yeah, why not?" Chris said.

His answer surprised Nina while Stephen just took it in stride and departed from the table with a nod. She felt the need to ask Chris about his sudden change of heart, but the level of noise inside the bar had the potential to foil that particular plan. Thanks to the live band, no decent conversation was possible inside the pub. Well, conversation at any rate was only possible in two ways: undignified shouting or getting close enough to each other to not have to resort to aforementioned shouting. Nina decided on the latter alternative and sat down next to Chris.

"Why are you suddenly game with all of this?" she asked curiously.

Chris gave her a shrug and one of his trademark cocky smiles. "Sometimes you've got to roll with a situation. You can either be determined to have a good time or a bad time. Me? I'm going to choose having a good time every time."

"That's basically 'If life hands you lemons, make lemonade' in a nutshell," she observed with a grin.

"Yeah, Jericho style," he smirked. "Just not short enough to fit on any shirts or coffee mugs, which kind of blows."

They sat there for a moment just listening to the band which consisted of four young men, bravely soldiering through the song "Irish Rover".

"Plus," Chris leaned closer to her again, "you rookies need someone to watch your backs."

"Rookies? That would make you..."

"The seasoned veteran, baby," pointed with his thumbs at his chest for emphasize. "Been there, done that."

"You don't look all that seasoned," she joked.

"Thanks," he laughed. His laughter had a slightly melancholic ring to it to Nina's surprise "I might not look it, but sometimes I feel it. But I guess that's what showbiz is all about."

His words made her inevitably regard his profile. To her Chris was ageless. It was something about his energy and appearance that made her forget that he was at least ten years her senior. Tonight thanks to his words, but only his words, she was firmly reminded of that again.

She gave him a hug, surprising both Chris and herself with that spontaneous gesture. After a brief moment of hesitation he actually hugged her back and even gave her a little pat on the back.

"It felt like the right thing to do," she explained, letting go of him. "So I just went for it."

He grinned. "No such thing as the present. Life's gotta be lived. Songs have gotta be sung. Friends have gotta be hugged..."

"You're spewing out all kinds of wisdom tonight," she teased him.

"Haven't done some songwriting in a while. That's gotta be the reason why," he winked at her.

They fell silent and continued to listen to the band, a bunch of young American guys in their early twenties, trying to fake an Irish accent as they covered "Sally MacLennane" by the Pogues. Most of the times they did a good job, but sometimes they went a bit over the top which made them sound Australian instead of Irish. Especially the word "station" gave them some trouble. Unfortunately it came up several times in the song. But who could blame them? The song was fast and they were giving it their best.

A drink was placed in front of her. Inside of it a shot glass was slowly floating towards the bottom of the pint. She heard Stuart's deep booming voice behind her: "Give me a break. Who are they? The Aussie Pogues?" Apparently that's who could blame them. She smirked.

Stephen was more forgiving about the deficits of the musical entertainment. In fact it seemed like he didn't mind at all. He placed his glass on the table next to hers and sat down with a satisfied sigh.

"Well, don't you look smug...," she remarked.

"They've got chips. Real ones. Like back home," he told her with a grin that seemed to say he was talking about a rare delicacy. And at least two other people around the table, namely Stuart and Nina, were more than ready to agree with him. Back when Nina had lived in London, chips had been her comfort food. When a whole plate of them was placed in front of her on the table, her mouth started watering immediately.

"I guess you have no problem with the knowledge that because of you one of those WWE nutritionists is crying himself to sleep right about now, man," Chris observed with a smirk.

Stephen was grinning from ear to ear. "Bad news, mate. Those pints back at the other bar already made him break out the snivels."

Nina used Stephen's distraction to steal one of his chips. Stuart followed her example and made a quick grab for the food on his friend's the plate as well. To say that Stephen was annoyed by them stealing his chips was an understatement.

"Oi! What are you two stealing me food for?"

Nina shrugged. "I love chips," she told Stephen, who was staring at her incredulously as she popped one of his chips in her mouth.

"Dartboard's free in fifteen. You're my mate. I wanted to make sure you were done eating by then. Plus, that stuff isn't good for your coronaries," Stuart informed him, reaching out to steal another chip from Stephen's plate. The Irishman slapped his wrist with gusto. Stuart quickly retracted his hand, rubbing it exaggeratedly while he shot Stephen a disapproving glance.

"Get your own," Stephen told him. Stuart smirked at him complacently.

"I will," he stood up, ready to leave again, but then his eyes landed on their drinks. "But before I go let's have a toast..." The others grabbed their glasses as well, waiting with a mixture of anticipation and slight dread for the words that would come out of Stuart's mouth. All bets were off when it came to him. Usually very gruff and taciturn, tonight he was still gruff, but less taciturn. "To good friends!" he smiled.

"To good friends!" the others chorused, smiling as well as they clinked their glasses.

"Blergh!" was the sound that inevitably escaped Nina's lips as whiskey and Guinness burned down her throat. There was a hint of sweetness in the aftertaste thanks to the Irish Cream.

"You don't like it?" Chris smirked while the other two men awaited her answer with just as much curiosity and badly concealed mischievousness. The way she had wrinkled her nose in distaste and that sound she had made had simply been too amusing.

"Are you sure that's an Irish Car Bomb, not that grog those pirates in that computer game used to drink...?" She was used to people not getting her remarks, but thanks to the look of dawning comprehension on Steve's face she decided to elaborate. "You know, the one that burned through mugs because it was that strong?"

Chris and Stuart shrugged their shoulders, while Steve pushed the plate of chips in her direction with a grin. "Come on, have some chips before you keel over, Governor Marley."

"Ha!" she pointed her finger at him and laughed, the exuberance doubtlessly created by that first sip of alcohol and the fact that he had gotten her obscure video game reference. "You're the best," she whispered in his ear, not wanting the others to hear it and give him a hard time for it.

"The best in the world?" he smirked.

"What? You wanna have CM Punk pop out of the woodwork now?" she chuckled, stuffing another one of those chips into her mouth.

"Nah, Steve, doesn't need another clobbering from Phil," Stuart interrupted them before Stephen could reply. "What he needs is to suffer a defeat at darts, so devastating, he will crawl all the way back to his mama in Cabra," Stuart grinned.

"You're pretty confident there, Stuart," Stephen got to his feet sticking out his chin and crossing his arms over his chest. "Especially since you're going to be the one crying to your ma' on the phone later, telling her that an Irishman knocked your pale British arse into the middle of next week."

Nina quickly got to her feet as well. "Enough with the trash talking! As good as you might be at it... Maybe I should take some notes for the next show and substitute the word "darts" with "wrestling". Let's settle this like mature adults," she took a drink from her glass, this time managing to keep a straight face, "We all play, the loser of this little match has to pay the drinks and get up on stage and sing a song with the band. What do you say, gentlemen?" She looked from Chris to Stuart and then finally at Stephen.

"I'm in." "Deal." "Let's do this."

"Fine," she grinned. She reached for the plate of chips and her glass and saunter over to the dartboards.

Close to the dartboards there were bistro tables and stools. She put the food and her drink on the somewhat sticky surface of one of those tables and watched the men approach with a calm smile. "So what are we going to play?"

"Killer?" Stephen suggested.

"We're enough people for that, so Killer it is," Stuart agreed with a grim nod.

"How's that work?" Chris asked.

"We throw at the board with our weak hand. The number that comes out will be your number. No one can have the same number. We take it in turns. Once you have a number, you get to throw at other people's numbers. Each player has three lives. Last man or woman standing wins," Stuart explained.

"Understood?" Stephen asked Chris and Nina. Both nodded, so he held out the darts to Nina and motioned at the dartboard. "Ladies first."

Nina took a dart in her right hand and threw it. She hit an eight. The boys let out a sympathetic groan.

"What?" She looked at them, unable to understand what was going on.

"Eight is pretty bad, luv. You'll be killed off in no time," Stephen told her.

Her name was quickly scribbled on the board by Stuart. He wrote down the eight next to it with a grim expression. Apparently darts was a serious affair to him.

Next was Chris, whose natural cockiness significantly increased by hitting the bull's-eye.

Stephen wasn't as fortunate. He narrowed his eyes in concentration and only hit eleven, the field adjoining to Nina's. "Looks like I'll end up just as dead as you, darlin'," he told her when he came to stand next to her again.

Stuart managed a promising start by hitting bull and getting 25 points.

Now that it was Nina's turn again, she didn't have a hard time deciding who to finish off first. She was a rookie at darts, so she attempted the shot she thought herself most likely to be capable of. To her surprise she managed to hit eleven without a problem.

"You little traitor!" Stephen exclaimed. However, that smirk on his face told her that even though he didn't like her taking away one of his lives, he didn't hold a grudge. She just shrugged her shoulders at him with a grin.

Chris decided to follow her example, taking off another one of Stephen's lives. Stephen decided to retaliate by hitting Nina's number. Stuart did the same, which left both Nina and Stephen with only one last life.

It was Nina's turn again. She hesitated for a moment, looking at the dartboard pensively before she decided on a course of action. It was a pretty risky move, but she was willing to go through with it. To her great surprise she managed to hit bull. Behind her Stephen cheered because she had just taken one of Stuart's lives away.

Lucky for them, Chris was in no haste to kill them off. He was all about leveling the playing field, so he too shot at Stuart's number and hit, suddenly leaving the Brit with only one life.

So that meant it was Stephen's turn once again. "I'm a horrible singer," Nina tried to beseech him not to kick her out of the game. "Really, I can demonstrate if you wanna hear..."

He grinned at her. "You will have plenty of opportunity for that later..." He aimed and hit the bull's-eye, leaving Nina and the other two to watch him with their mouths hanging open. "... during the cab ride back," he finished his sentence with a cocky grin.

"What yah lookin' at me fer?" his laughter and another sip from his drink brought out his Irish accent more clearly. "Not much to do for a young lad back in me hometown, except football and darts. Cabra isn't that much of a fun place."

His laughter was wiped away when it was Stuart's turn. The Brit narrowed his eyes, fixed the target and finally threw. The dart firmly embedded itself in the section of number eleven. No wonder! Stuart had executed the shot with the precision of a surgeon. "Say bye-bye, mate. You're dead as a doornail now," he told him as he crossed out Stephen's name on the board.

Stephen let out a disgruntled growl and Nina laid a calming hand on his bicep. "You better finish this eejit off now, darlin'," he told her.

"I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises. It's a difficult shot," she told him and took a deep breath before she threw her next dart. It bounced off the board and landed on the floor.

"Nooo!" Stephen exclaimed and took of his cap to rake his hand through his hair.

"Sorry," she told him sheepishly.

He was still pouting when she was standing right in front of him again. He held up his index finger and took a deep drink from his glass. She rolled her eyes at his childish antics.

"Am I forgiven?" Nina asked impatiently.

He frowned. "I'll just have to train you better. Maybe I'll buy you a dartboard..."

"The hell you will!" She kicked him lightly in the shin, fully aware of the fact that he was teasing her.

"Ouch!" he howled, clutching his leg. His behavior was pretty ridiculous considering that he was a wrestling superstar and had to deal with opponents twice her size and weight.

"Suits you right for saying stuff like that," she told him smugly.

"You know I didn't mean it, luv," he told her. The sincere timbre in his voice and the look in his eyes got to her and made her take a step closer to him.

"I was afraid there for a second..."

"I just don't like losing..," he admitted. "Least of all to Stu. He always gets so insufferably smug about it."

A loud howl could be heard behind them. Apparently Chris had just taken Stuart's last life, so there was no danger of him being overly cocky.

"I don't think he'll be all that smug now," Nina told Stephen with a grin.

"Yeah, but unfortunately he can still do some gloating about the fact that he kicked me out first and I have to do some singing now," he grimaced. "That will be embarrassing."

"Already picked out a song, Farrelly?" Stuart drawled as he appeared beside them and slapped his friend on the shoulder with a smirk.

"I've got an idea," Stephen grinned, but Nina could tell he was hiding his nerves behind that grin. It was one thing doing something you're good at in front of an audience. Doing something you weren't accustomed to? Well, that was a whole different matter...

"Good luck, Steve," she told him and kissed his cheek before he made his way over to the band, who were just taking a break. He still had to convince them to let him sing. It wasn't like today was open-mike-night.

The three friends observed the situation from a safe distance, occasionally taking sips from their drinks. Nina was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. In the last couple of minutes she had already become more outspoken, if that was at all possible in her case.

"There we go... Turning on that old Irish charm in three, two, one, go!" She motioned at Stephen who was talking to the lead singer of the band. "You watch him. They'll allow him to sing. I can't imagine anyone resisting that smile."

"Yeah, you certainly can't," Stuart teased her and Chris chuckled.

She elbowed the Brit in the rips with a grin.

"Daft cow!" he said affectionately.

"Bully," she replied with a smile.

Nina's suspicion proved to be right. A few seconds later Stephen climbed up onto the little platform the band used as a stage. He grabbed the mike with an air of confidence. He was no stranger to talking into microphones and working a crowd, after all that was what he did on a regular basis.

The bar fell silent as he spoke into the mike. "Hi, there! Howya? Me name is Stephen and I lost a bet tonight," laughter from the audience. Stephen grinned and took off his cap to scratch the back of his head. His smile was sheepish and had an endearing quality to it because it was sincere. By this time he already had half the room wrapped around his finger.

"Yeah, betting... I know. Not too smart. Anyway, it looks like I'll have to sing you a song tonight... Last time I sang in public was with the church choir, back when I was this tall," he held his hand up to his hip, "so be gentle with me, alright?"

"So some friends are in the audience tonight and a young lady I don't want to make an arse out of meself in front of, which means I need your help to pull this off. You all know "Fields of Athenry", right?" His question was answered by cheers and catcalls, so he continued with a little more confidence. "You might have heard that song before if you're a soccer fan..." It was noticeable how he momentarily stumbled over that word, willing himself to say "soccer" instead of "football".

"Liverpool! Greatest football club of all times!" Stuart hollered next to her at the top of his lungs and made Nina jump in her seat in fright.

"Jesus, thanks for the heads up!" She hissed at him.

"Thank you for the enthusiasm, Stu!" Stephen laughed on stage. "So if you could join in at the chorus that would help me out a lot. It goes like this... Careful, this redser is going to start singing now…," he warned the audience, which got him one more laugh. "_Low lie__ the field of Athenry Where once we watched the small free birds fly Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing It's so lonely 'round the fields of Athenry_."

Nina was blown away by how good his voice sounded. "Wow, I had no idea he could sing like that...," she looked at both Chris and Stuart in astonishment. Her friends seemed to be equally surprised by Stephen's hidden talents. However, they had no opportunity to talk about it some more, because the band was about to start playing.

"Let's get it over with, fellas," Stephen invited the band to start. His pleasant voice and his charm made up for whatever difficulty he had getting into the song. When he reached the chorus, the whole bar, including Nina, Stuart and Chris, was singing it along with him.

When the song was over, everyone was on their feet cheering and clapping. There were even cries for an encore. He smiled, did a little bow and waved the request off with a shy smile. "Nah, I think if I sing another song, your ears will fall off or start bleedin'. Let's not risk it... I'll leave you in the capable hands of those four lads. Thank you for putting up with me and have a great night!" Stephen said and jumped off the stage.

His eyes widened in surprise when he found himself face to face with Nina all of a sudden. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him after her, through the crowd, outside on the street, round a corner. Her feet stopped, she turned around and moved towards him. He tried to read the look on her face. He didn't have much time to do it, because suddenly she was kissing him.

The alcohol had taken away her usual restrain, so she wasn't holding anything back. Her kiss was wild and enthusiastic and made him forget that they were standing in a dark corner in some alley.

She pulled back abruptly. She was slightly out of breath, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes had a slightly dazed, but happy expression to them.

"So I take it, my performance didn't half stink," he smiled down at her. The adrenaline from having to go on stage had made him sober up again.

"Are you kidding me? If wrestling doesn't work out for you anymore at some point, I'll strap a guitar on you and send you on tour," she told him.

They were interrupted by the bleeping of Stephen's cellphone. Stephen rolled his eyes and took it out of his pocket. "It's a message from Stuart," he told her without any enthusiasm whatsoever. "Let me read it to you: Move your bums to the entrance of the pub. We're going home, so quit snogging each other and get a move on."

"Classic Stuart," she commented dryly.

"Jup," he agreed with a smile. "Come on, let's go."


	13. Insanity runs in my family

**Author's note**:_ Have I told you that I now have a beta? She's awesome and fast as lightning. Thank you, UntilNeverDawns. So that means you have to put up with less spelling and grammar atrocities committed by yours truly. Great, huh? _

_As we're 13 chapters in, I feel the need to mention again that I still don't own anything concerning the trademark WWE. Please don't sue. _

* * *

Nina was lying in her bed, sprawled out on top of it face first. She was fully clothed and her head was turned to the side. Soft snores escaped her mouth with every intake and exhale of breath. Her cellphone started buzzing in the back pocket of her jeans. She slowly started to come to. Her left leg began to twitch, her face contorting in a grimace. She scratched her nose. The phone continued to ring.

She rolled on her back with a groan. Her head hurt, but not from being hungover, she was old enough to know when to stop drinking in order to avoid the negative side effects of alcohol. It hurt because she had bumped her head last night. She couldn't remember when or where, but when she rubbed her fingers over one particular spot at back of her head, it hurt.

Apart from the feelings of discomfort and pain, the cellphone was becoming an increasing nuisance. She pulled it out of her pocket, her eyes still closed, and tiredly murmured her name into it.

"Hey, sis," the far too cheerful voice of her brother greeted her.

At this point of the conversation she should have already been suspicious, because her brother only faked cheerfulness whenever he was in some kind of trouble. In her current state however, she was too tired to notice.

"Timmy...," her voice sounded muffled against the pillow. "It's too early..."

"It's ten thirty in the morning," he chuckled. "Shouldn't you be at work already?"

"I've got a couple of days off," she told him rolling on her back. "What's your excuse? Shouldn't you be at university or something?" Nina let out a yawn and ran her hand through her messy hair.

"Nah, I'd rather sleep in," he chuckled.

Nina sighed. The sound communicated all the exasperation she felt in dealing with her younger brother. He was the one who always got to break the rules and only got slapped on the wrist because he was the-oh-so-charming second born while she had had to fight for every single one of those liberties he enjoyed now.

Tim liked to enjoy life. She had once likened him to the decadent, hedonistic robot from Futurama who liked to eat grapes all day and got carried around on a divan bed. Tim wasn't all that bad, actually he was rather smart, but he easily got distracted. By life in general, parties, girls...

"So what have you done this time?" she finally asked the inevitable question, waiting for his answer with bated breath and a slight headache.

"Why do you always have to be so damn distrustful? Can't I just give my big sister a call, because I miss her?"

"No," she answered dryly. Nina wasn't in the mood for mind games right now. "Experience proves you're usually in some kind of trouble when you do..."

"Ha! I bet you can't even name one single incident..."

She interrupted him. "How about when you kidnapped the faculty mascot and I had to drive over to university and work my charms on the dean, so he wouldn't call the cops..." There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. She continued to speak before he could even get the first word of protest out. "Or the time when your ex threw you out of her apartment in the middle of the night? Who came to get you when you were hiding out in the bushes in your underwear like some pathetic little squirrel, huh?"

"Alright, alright, you're the best big sister ever," Timmy tried to appease her.

"Yeah, yeah, stop sucking up to me. Spill!"

There was a knock at her hotel door. She abruptly sat up in bed. To her surprise her head wasn't even spinning. Barefoot she padded towards the door while she waited for her brother to brighten her day with his newest misdeed.

"I might have decided to...," there was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line. Before her mind's eye Nina could see Tim biting his bottom lip like he used to when he was insecure about something as a kid.

"Out with it!" She insisted as she peered through the spy hole of the door. Sure enough there was Stephen standing outside her door. Nina let out a groan. It was still too early in their relationship for him see her in that state. She checked her appearance in the mirror that was hanging on the wall opposite of her. Her hair was a mess, the mascara she had worn yesterday was smudged because she had rubbed her eyes and had inadvertently distributed some of it under them. Yes, it was just like she had expected. She looked like death warmed over. She let out another sound of displeasure.

"Are you okay there?" Tim asked dutifully. His question was followed by another knock.

She knew Stephen well enough already to be aware of the fact that it would be a good idea to open the door in the next couple of seconds. He wouldn't just go away. In the worst case scenario, if he worried too much and wouldn't get any sign of life from her, he wouldn't hesitate to kick down the door.

"I'm peachy. Just fine. Why'd you ask?"

Nina tried to pat down her hair and wipe away the mascara under her eyes

"Cause you sound like you're pissed off or something...," Tim observed.

"Oh, really? Whatever gave you that idea?" she hissed into the phone and opened the door just enough to briefly stick her head out. Her hand covered the mouthpiece of the phone as she addressed a bewildered looking Irishman with a fake grin and the following words. "Hi, I'm fine. See you later."

She was about to close the door in his face. It was not out of rudeness, she just had the oddest premonition that Tim was about to reveal some deep, dark secret to her. Unfortunately Stephen's reflexes were quicker than hers. He got his left foot in the door, gently ushered her back in the room and stepped inside.

"Shit!" she swore. Out from underneath her hand she could hear Tim's muffled voice. She pressed the phone back against her ear with an eye roll. Had it not been for her thrice damned brother, she would have handled the situation better. "What is it?" she snarled into the cellphone.

Tim seemed to figure she couldn't get any madder than this so he finally dropped the bomb on her. "I've dropped out of university."

Her voice was eerily calm when she spoke again. Because he could see her face, Stephen was able to tell it was the calm before the proverbial storm. He took a step closer.

"Sorry, but can you please repeat that? I must have misheard...," she held out her hand admonishingly, telling Stephen without any words not to come closer. "Have you just told me you dropped out of university?!" Her shrill voice doubled over when she asked that particular question. "Have you lost your fucking mind, Tim?"

"No need to start screaming..."

"No need to start screaming?" she echoed, this time trying to keep her voice down. She managed but it only sounded scarier. "If this isn't a reason to start screaming, then I don't know what is..."

"I knew you would take it badly. There's no talking to you when you're like this."

"Timothy Percival Stewart, I swear if you hang up on me now, I'm going to get on the next plane to Hartford and kick your sorry ass all over town...," Nina threatened quite convincingly. Stephen made a face, mentally envisioning the scene.

"You sound just like Mom." That was the lowest blow Tim could have possibly dished out and he was well aware of it, because after having said those words, he immediately hung up. Nina held the cellphone away from her face and looked at the display in utter and complete disbelief. He really had just accused her of sounding like their mother and ended the call. It was not just in her mind.

With a scream of rage she hurled her cellphone at the couch where it left a deep indentation in the soft cushions. Her hands were balled to fists at her sides and had she been the Hulk, she would have probably turned into a green rage monster by now.

Stephen was conflicted whether to find her incredibly hot or extremely scary in that state. The vote was still out on that one when her eyes finally settled on him. She was breathing heavily. He knew how it felt being that angry, so he gave her space and just stood there and waited.

Eventually her breathing slowed down. It happened around the time she started pacing in front of him and running her hands through her hair, muttering to herself quietly. He caught bits and pieces of what she was saying. "If mom and dad find out..." "Is he even aware of what he's doing?" "What hasn't he told me?"

She eventually scurried over to the couch and picked up the cellphone again. Just as soon as she had dialed what he supposed to be her brother's number, she pressed the phone to her ear with an expression on her face that was somewhere between anger and despair. She gave the display another incredulous stare. "He's hung up on me again," he told him, her eyes huge and round in her anger. "Can you believe that? That's just fucking incredible!"

"Nina...," he started. His voice was familiar anchor in the emotional upheaval she felt. She looked at him. The look turned into a stare. She finally blinked as if coming out of a daze.

"I'm sorry," she eventually pressed out, slowly becoming aware of the situation and what it must have looked like to him.

Stephen just shook his head. He doubted he would have reacted any differently if one of his sisters would have presented him with similar news.

"You don't need to apologize. Least of all to me."

"It feels like I have to... It's just that... Argh!" she let out an inarticulate growl. "Next to my mother, my brother has the uncanny ability to get under my skin like no one else... He's just so irritating!" The gesture she made with her hand was supposed to communicate some of that irritation she felt, but is she was unsatisfied with its ability to convey her dismay. "You can't imagine how irritating he is," she sighed.

"I have two younger sisters. Try me. I think I can." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Really?" She gave him astonished look. "How much younger?"

"One's your age. The other one's 25."

"Wow, growing up with so many women around you must have been difficult. No wonder you are able to put up with me so well..." She threw him a grin for the first time this morning. The grin fell when she caught sight of herself again in the reflecting surface of the TV. "Damn, I look like something the cat has dragged in..."

"Ah, that's guff! You always look fantastic," he said and she couldn't detect any kind of deception behind his words.

"Wow, you must really like me. I do look a mess," she sighed in exasperation and smiled at him.

"You're right. I've taken an odd liking to you," he confirmed with a smirk.

"I'll grab a quick shower if you don't mind. You wanna watch some TV while you're waiting for me? I promise I'll try to look less like the thing from the crypt when I get back."

He smiled at her remark. "Alright."

She was already heading towards the bedroom where she had parked her suitcase and her cosmetics yesterday, when something occurred to her and she headed back to him.

"I'm sorry," she said as she walked back in. He turned to look at her in surprise. His left arm was stretched out over the backrest of the couch. "I'm such an egotistical idiot. I didn't even ask about your back..." Her hand came to rest on his forearm.

"Better. Some of the welts are already starting to fade," he told her.

She smiled at him, pleased to hear that news. Her fingers gently started stroking back and forth on his arm without her noticing. He registered her actions with a smile on his face. Their eyes met and she became aware of what she was doing as well.

"I'll hit the shower," she winked at him and turned around quickly. But not quickly enough. He had already spotted the soft blush on her nose.

He shook his head and began surfing channels in order to focus on anything other than the thought of her standing naked underneath the spray of the shower. His choice fell on a sports channel where they showed a transmission of last night's Champion's League match. Neither of the currently playing soccer teams were one of his favorites, but he could get enthused by the way they executed certain strategic moves or how fast paced their attacks on their opponent's goal were.

He got so engrossed in the game that he only noticed she had returned when he felt her hug him from behind and nuzzle his cheek. The affectionate gesture soon turned into something that made his heart rate speed up. The way her lips closed over his skin, the way her breath caressed it, the little sounds she was making, it fired up his imagination and let him consider forgetting his initial plan of taking her out for breakfast.

He turned and pulled her over the headrest of the sofa onto his lap. Now he was able to kiss her back and so he did. Their kisses were long and lingering and made it difficult for both of them to think straight. He just couldn't help himself. Who was he to resist her when she smelled so nice and kissing her felt so right? Also she was wearing a dress, which surprised him because she usually wasn't the type to wear dresses. It was a pity though, because it suited her quite well. It was classy, not revealing too much cleavage, but it was tight fitting and showed off her legs. Legs which he was able to touch for the first time. His hand was currently resting on her knee and he kept asking himself what she would say if he moved it upwards.

She interrupted that particular line of thought by leaning her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath. "Steve..." The way she said his name in moments like that made him want to let go of all reason and propriety and drag her to the bedroom. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on whatever she would have to say.

"Do you sometimes feel like your head can't keep up with your heart?"

Now what was that supposed to mean? How did she come up with questions like that?

"What do you mean?" he asked her.

She shook herself like one might have to in order to get rid of the dizzying effect of alcohol. "Head and heart is just a fancy way around saying my libido and my brains," she smiled at him.

He smiled back. "Give a fella a second there. I'm still trying to get me brains to function after all that snogging...," he licked his lips. He could still taste her there which was really distracting. It took a bit longer than usual for him to find the right words. "So basically you're saying this is moving too fast?"

She hesitated. It was clear she was conflicted about what to say. He grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You're just as dazed as I am. I can see we're at least on the same page when it comes to that."

Nina laughed softly. "Yeah, definitely. But I do tend to agree when people say sex complicates matters." She got to her feet and he couldn't help but throw her a questioning glance.

"I can't think properly when I'm that close to you," she admitted with a shy smile, which made a smug smirk appear on his face.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked.

"Do you want the 'normal-people-version' or would you prefer the undiluted truth?" she looked at him expectantly.

"So are you gonna rip out me heart now and dance a little jig on it?" He ran his hand through his hair.

"No," she took a step closer and caressed his cheek in a gesture of reassurance. They locked eyes. Her gaze swept over his features. She took in the serious expression on his face and could hardly stand it. He wasn't supposed to look that serious. No, she could never rip his heart out. How could she? In the brief amount of time they knew each other... How long was that? Two months? Three months? Anyway, however long it had been, in that brief amount of time she had come to crave his company like a drug. Had someone asked her why, she would have had trouble giving one short, coherent answer. Well, she could have perhaps said that she was in love with him. But being in love was not enough in their situation. It wasn't enough when there were jobs on the line, when being with him would mean having a long distance relationship and meeting at different airports all the time. Not to mention all those sleepless nights she would be spending, because his job was that dangerous. Being in love was something elusive. She had been in love a lot of times in her life. This was the head over heels variety that made her pick at food listlessly when he wasn't there. She recognized it quite well. But it was only a cocktail of endorphins and hormones. They needed more.

"I just want us to be sure about this," she paused. He waited patiently for her to continue. When she spoke again, her voice lacked its usual reassurance. Something shy and fragile shone through that tough chick facade she was broadcasting to the world and made him feel a wave of affection for her. "Perhaps you have noticed already, I'm a bit messed up. I get excited over new things and people and sometimes I have trouble figuring out what it is that I feel, whether it's just plain old excitement or something more lasting. With the way things are, we need to make sure it's not like or lust or anything. We need the real deal. After all, this is going to impact both of our lives profoundly."

"Let me get this straight. We're talking about the big L-word here, right?" he smiled at her and she felt immediately reassured by that smile, because it told her, she hadn't gone too far and he was still with her in this.

"The big L-word," she nodded in confirmation.

"You're quite demanding, you know that, right?" he teased her.

"Come on, Farrelly, you don't fool me. You like your challenges cut out for you, don't you? This is just a different sort of game," she sat down opposite of him on edge the coffee table.

Her cellphone was resting next to her on the tabletop and looking at it made her suddenly go all quiet and serious.

"Tim?" he asked simply.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I need to give him a call again. I've got to figure out what happened."

"Maybe you want to try a different approach now. Less reproach, more understanding," he suggested.

His advice gave her pause and made her look at him in wonder. "Since when are you so clever about giving advice on family problems?"

"Since I made the mistake of nagging at me sister which resulted in me having to grovel for half a year to get back into her good graces," he told her with a bitter smirk. Despite that bitterness there was amused expression in his eyes, so she thought it would be alright for her to laugh as well.

"What did you do?"

"I told Sinead her 'then-boyfriend-now-husband' was a complete eejit and she'd better stay away from him."

"Clever move," she praised him, her voice laced with irony.

"Yeah, right? What can I say, luv? That's me, always saying a bunch of bloody smart things." The self-irony in his voice was rather endearing and made her grin as she reached for her cellphone.

She picked it up and dialed. Two long bleeps told her to hold the line. Her grin however faded more and more with each second she spent waiting for Tim to answer the phone. Eventually his voice mail picked up the call. "Just leave a message after the tone," Tim's voice announced and it struck her how ironic that little word 'just' was. It wasn't like she could just blabber away now. She had to weigh her words. She mentally gave herself a gentle nudge forward. Stephen touched her knee and gave it a brief squeeze. 'Come on! You can do it!' the gesture seemed to say.

"Tim? It's me again. Listen, I'm sorry I overreacted earlier, but you caught me at a bad time. It's just that you are my little brother and I worry about you, okay? So please give me a call once you hear this? You know I love you, right? No matter how much of an idiot you are." Stephen threw her a reproachful look. She caught herself. "I'm sorry, that was out of line. Just call me, okay?"

She hung up. "Satisfied?"

He nodded. "Maybe a hint more sincerity," again with the teasing, but instead of hating it in a situation like that, she welcomed it, because it cheered her up. "But yeah, overall a satisfactory performance."

"Gee, thanks, sweetie," she said back. There was a healthy dose of sarcasm in her voice, which he took in stride and with a disarming smile.

"So breakfast?"

"Oh, God! Yes! I'm starved." She shot up from her seat and got her purse.

* * *

"I still can't believe you ate four pancakes," he threw her a brief, but rather pointed look before he focused back on driving again.

They were at the airport too quickly, their goodbye-kisses were too short, and the plane ride home was too long.

They were approaching LaGuardia and the aircraft was slowly descending, its belly sinking lower and lower in those dark and heavy rain clouds that covered the area. Her reflection was staring back at her from a windowpane that was beginning to be covered by rain drops. She looked sad. She was sad, sad she had had to leave him already. It was unreasonable to feel that sad because it was not goodbye forever, only until Extreme Rules. She thought of him and his teasing remarks, his blue eyes, his sense of humor, the way he was sometimes oscillating between being a complete macho and a total softie and smiled. Nina slightly banged her head against the windowpane. She knew she wanted to call him once she got off the plane, but first they needed to land.

The man beside her had long since given up trying to make small talk with her and decided that he would be better of sleeping. She had been too distracted to keep up conversation with a stranger. Her thoughts had always strayed back to him and their conversation back at the hotel this morning. She could help but wonder whether what they had was already that "something more" they had talked about.

Now that her mind wasn't clouded by the inevitable attraction she always felt whenever she was near him, it was easier forming coherent thoughts. Those thoughts inevitably centered on a possible future with him. Was she ready for all those complications that being with someone who was constantly on the road entailed? What about the fact that he was famous? Would that complicate matters?

She came to the conclusion that she didn't care. It surprised her. Why the hell didn't she care? She should be worried about that, instead nothing. She didn't care which was kind of upsetting. It surely wasn't for a lack emotional investment. She was all kinds of emotionally invested in this. Then why the hell didn't it matter? Why was the thought of talking to him on the phone later rivaling the intense and joyous anticipation she had felt waiting for Christmas as a child?

She loved him, she concluded. It was the only explanation and yet it was completely unreasonable. What did she know about him? Her mind rattled off a mental list of things. He snored, he liked to tease her, he was a decent singer, a soccer fanatic, he had two younger sisters, he liked to steal food from her plate when he thought she wasn't watching - she chuckled to herself quietly at that - he was clever and handsome and... Well, he was just Stephen to keep it concise and less girly. She loved him. Why else would she keep waxing on about him in her mind like some blithering fool?

The plane landed. The seat belt sign above their heads was switched off. They disembarked the plane and the mass of travelers trotted obediently towards the baggage claim.

Nina still hadn't switched on her phone. She knew once she did, she would call him and tell him. It was bad enough it would have to happen over the phone, but she had no illusions about the fact that she wouldn't be able to keep it bottled up until she saw him next, but she didn't need to make it worse by calling from baggage claim. It just didn't seem right to tell him with all of those other people around.

The way from baggage claim to her car provided her with a little extra time to think this through. But how much rational thinking was one really able to do in a situation like this? Some scientists called love a biologically dictated state of insanity. She tended to agree with them when she wasn't suffering from that particular case of insanity herself. Because let's face it, what she was about to do _was_ insane. Call a man she knew for... How long exactly? Three months? ... and tell him that she loved him? Total insanity! Wasn't there a rule somewhere that said you needed to wait for the man to say it? Ah, screw it! Screw those rules!

She was finally inside her car and switched on her phone. She took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this? Yes! Because there was no time like the present. Missed opportunities were for losers. Her index finger pressed down on his name in the address list. A slight tremor shook her hand when she held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" The sound of his voice let her pulse spike up. Her throat felt constricted, but she knew now was the time to act, so she forced herself to speak. Life had already taught her enough lessons about missed opportunities and she didn't want this to become another one.

"Steve, it's me," she told him unnecessarily. These days nearly all phones had caller-ID.

"I know," he said and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

"I... I need to tell you something. Can you talk?"

Something about tone of her voice got his immediate attention. "Yeah, I'm in me room," he sounded worried. "Is everything okay?"

She paused, considering his question. "Yes." A couple of awkward seconds passed. "No," she finally said meekly. "I don't know..." She was actually as dejected as she sounded. Whenever words failed her, she felt defeated.

"Are you okay? What's going on?"

Two questions for the price of one. She had to say it now or else she would only make him worry.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be doing this over the phone..."

"What? Breaking up with me already?" He was trying to sell that remark as a joke, but by the way he said it she could tell he was actually concerned about that.

"No, the opposite actually," she said, dodging the real issue like the proper coward she was.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She could hear his frown and envision it before her mind's eye as well.

"I...," she started and paused because she was unsatisfied with the beginning of a sentence. If she were to write a love scene like this, she would need hours, if not days to get the words right. But life was too fast-paced for that. You didn't get to make eloquent declaration, you were lucky if you just got to make them. She sighed. "I realize that you might find this strange and maybe you'll think that I'm some kind of crazy psycho-bitch after this call... I... I," she stuttered, which was pathetic because she hadn't stuttered anymore since she was a shy and awkward teenager. "I love you."

There it was. She had said it. There was an excruciating silence at the other end of the line. Perhaps she shouldn't have sprung it on him like that. It had been a mistake. You just don't go around blurting 'I-love-yous' at people like that, she admonished herself.

She didn't give him a chance to answer; instead she already started to ramble out an apology. "I'm sorry. My timing sucks... I shouldn't have said it now. I should have said it back at the other airport or waited until..."

"Nina...," he interrupted her gently. He sounded amused and exasperated, which was a good sign because he could just as well have sounded pissed off and angry. She continued nevertheless, because if she didn't, she was sure there would be more of that awkward silence she dreaded.

"Just pretend like I haven't said anything...," she said, running her hand through her hair. She leaned back her head against the headrest and looked at the car roof.

"What!? Nina, are you completely off your bloody nut? I can't pretend like you haven't just said that..." Now he did sound kind of pissed off. She braced herself for things to go downhill from that point of their conversation.

"Why? It would make things that much easier..." She was assuming that he didn't share her feelings. If he did, he would have long since said something.

He sighed. It was a long suffering sigh, but the fact that she heard a smile in his voice had her confused. "It wouldn't make things easier. It would in fact be the most stupid idea in the history of stupid ideas." A weak smile appeared on her face at that remark.

"Why?" she asked again, feeling something like hope blossoming up inside her.

She heard him take a deep breath and then he said it. "I love you too."

Her mind congealed in shock and then she felt something like utter and completely stupid, the world-is-a-lovely-ol'-place happiness wash over her.

"That's a relief," she blurted out, which made him chuckle. "But I'm afraid we're doing this all wrong," she smiled. "We were supposed to say that at the other airport."

"Really?" he said. And for once she wished her phone could do video calls, so she could not only hear, but see the smile on his face. "You can always come back here to tell me face to face..."

"God, I'd love to," she sighed. "A bit of kissing might be nice too right about now."

"We'll do that next time, we'll see each other," he reassured her with a laugh.

"What do you call it? Snogging?"

"No, after what we just said to each other calling it snogging would do it justice any more. It would have to be more poetic."

"Softie," she teased him.

"You love me," he told her matter-of-factly.

"I do," she said.

"You're too far away."

"So are you." Her voice was tinged with a regretful undertone.

"Two more weeks," he told her as much as himself.

"That's 14 days until we next see each other." Nina became aware of what she was saying. Seen from the outside, their exchange was so sweet, it was vomit inducing. "Argh! I hate you Farrelly, you've got me sounding like some teenage girl with a crush."

"I think it's rather cute. Just think, I even got you wearing a dress this morning. Next time it'll be something pink," he teased.

"Never," she laughed. "I'd rather die... Besides, I don't think you'd like me in pink."

"I like you in anything," he told her and the remark took away her breath.

"Really?" her voice sounded kind of squeaky in her surprise.

"Really," he confirmed. After a brief pause he continued to speak. "I love you," the timber of his voice made her heart skip a beat. It was clear they were nearing the end of their conversation.

"I love you," she replied, wishing that she could make this conversation last longer. In fact she was wishing for a whole lot of things: that he wasn't so far away right now, that she didn't have to return to work tomorrow and could hop on another plane to see him, that their time together would not always be cut short by their jobs... But there was no use making wishes. Their situation was what it was.

"Have a safe drive home. Call me when you get there," he told her.

"I will," she promised and ended the call with a smile.


	14. The Inner Workings of Her Crazy Mind

**Author's Note:** _ My thanks go out to my beta UntilNeverDawns. You're a great help and I'm glad to have you on board for this!_

_ Punk81: Thanks for your extremely kind and flattering review. You made my day. (And I'm not just saying that to be nice). I really appreciate it. Hope you will enjoy the rest of the story as well._

* * *

Nina was standing inside the break room at work and pouring herself a coffee.

"So where have you been during your little break? Have you checked in on Sheamus?" the casual question came from behind her. She recognized Mike's voice and turned around immediately. Her colleague was standing behind her with his coffee mug in hand. The way he looked at her indicated that he was yet again annoyed with her. Perhaps she hadn't gotten out of his way fast enough. Perhaps he didn't like the shirt she was wearing. But quite frankly she didn't care.

"We're not friends, Mike," she announced in a chilly voice. "You're a colleague. And that's it. So I don't have to answer that question."

"What's the matter with you, Nina?" the way he pronounced her name sounded like he was pronouncing the name of some disgusting slimy creature. "Haven't gotten laid in a while or is it that time of the month? Relax. Nothing but a friendly question among colleagues."

"I had a nice time. Thank you," she replied in any icy tone of voice and breezed out of the room.

For some reason his comments had gotten to her, but not because they were rude and out of line. What he had said was actually true. She hadn't had a lasting relationship in two years. From the moment she had quit her job at university, a period of stress and personal change had started. While she was looking out for herself, it had been kind of hard to make room for somebody else in her life. Now that she had found her bearings again and her life had regained stability, things were different.

Still, even though she was a fiercely independent woman, she needed someone to spill her guts to. There was, for one thing, her relationship with Stephen. The level of intensity and seriousness it had acquired in such a short time scared her sometimes. And that thing with Tim was also still occupying her mind. Tim had never called her back. He had however written her an email in which he tried to calm her and tell her he would try to work things out on his own. He had sent the email one week ago. So right now she was trying to be patient and respect the fact that he needed some time and space to work through whatever problem he seemed to have. One more day. She'd leave him one more day and then she'd give him a call again.

She had reached the office she shared with Luke and Maria. For once both of them were present. They acknowledged her arrival in their own idiosyncratic ways. Maria nodded at her and then focused back on her work. Luke grinned and spun around once in his swivel chair before he shot up and exclaimed "Coffee break!" There was only one acceptable response to that battle cry. Maria and Nina raised their cups in unison. "Cheers!" they chorused.

Nina slumped down in her chair which bounced up and down once when her full weight hit it. At the thought of Tim, actually she never stopped thinking of him; a listless sigh left her lips.

"What's going on?" Maria asked her, throwing her a preoccupied look over the edge of her computer screen.

"Life," was Nina's enigmatic reply.

"Care to be a bit more precise...," Maria raised one of her delicate eyebrows.

Nina spent a few seconds reflecting on what to tell Maria. It seemed too risky talking about Stephen. Sure, Maria was her friend, but she was also her colleague, so she decided to tell her about Tim. In the long run, her messed up family life would only have minimal repercussions on her career if word got out.

"It's my brother. He called a couple of days ago to tell me he's dropped out of university. Since then I've been dodging my mum's phone calls, because I don't want to lie to her. She doesn't know yet," Nina sighed.

"Sounds serious," Maria leaned back in her chair.

"It is. With Tim you never know. I'm not even sure I want to know his reasons for dropping out of university. Could be anything from him wanting to run away with the circus to the sudden compulsion to start a microbrewery. On second thought... I definitely don't want to know. It's always worse than I imagine." Nina banged her head against the desktop. Not hard enough to hurt herself, but enough to convey her profound frustration.

"Have you talked to him? It's obviously still on your mind," Maria said in a sympathetic tone of voice.

"I keep calling him, but I always end up talking to the answering machine. He won't return my calls."

"Awesome," Maria said in an ironic tone of voice.

"Yeah, just awesome."

As if on cue Luke strolled back in. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting from his cup. "Awesome? Is this a secret The Miz fan club meeting?"

Nina let out a snort. "No, we're talking about my stupid little brother."

"What's he done?"

"Dropped out of university?" Nina gave Luke an unnerved look.

"Congrats."

"Yeah, definitely," she rolled her eyes. "Mom is going to kill us both when she finds out... It's not going be pretty." Quite inevitably her eyes wandered over to the family picture that was standing on her desktop. Happy toothy grins, mother, father, daughter, son - the average American family. They looked perfect in a picture, but underneath the surface there was quite some conflict potential.

"Why?" Maria asked in concern. Since she had a very close relationship to her own family- her mom called her every day-she was perturbed by the news that other families were less harmonic.

"My mom is some kind of overachiever when it comes to us kids. She still dreams of a knight in shining armor for me. Preferably someone with a doctorate who is educated and wealthy. She used to love watching Frasier. If she could fix me up with a real life Frasier, she would. From my brother she wants nothing less than for him to turn into a rich, cultured little prince. Not a lot to ask, right?" Nina looked at her colleagues with something akin to challenging expression on her face, secretly daring them to tell her that their families were more messed up than hers. After all that would make her feel slightly better. No such luck!

"Somehow I can't help but be thankful for the fact that my parents never were that ambitious," Luke told her. "Chocolate bar orgy during lunch break?" he suggested. It was his way of showing his sympathy, since he wasn't someone who enjoyed talking about emotional problems. Nevertheless Nina was grateful for his suggestion and nodded.

Maria however was his polar opposite when it came to things like that. "That's terrible. She sets the bar far too high and makes things way too difficult for you and your brother."

Nina shrugged. "She doesn't do it to be mean. It's just her way of showing she cares."

"There are different ways to do that," Maria frowned at her. "Has she ever tried telling you kids she loves you?"

"She has," Nina smirked, "but our family is not big on the emotional talk. That's not how we Stewarts roll... We like to bottle things up and only come out with them at the very last moment, when we can no longer keep them in."

"You seem awfully down. Are you sure this is just about your brother?" Maria asked.

Nina gave her an odd look. She had walked right into this one. She shouldn't have complained about her family's inability to deal with emotions. Since she was a part of that family, of course that deficit also extended to her. She regarded Maria a little bit longer. If she was honest with herself, she desperately needed someone to talk to about Stephen. Perhaps if she left out the fact that they were talking about one of the WWE's superstars and gave her as little information about him as possible, she could talk to Maria about what was on her mind. She made a decision.

"No, it's not only about my brother," Nina finally admitted, her shoulders slumped, her head hanging in defeat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Maria suggested rolling her chair in her direction, so she could lay her hand on Nina's shoulder.

"If you're willing to listen…"

"What about after work? I'm free. Rodrigo is out of town on a business trip. I can make us dinner over at my place," Maria suggested.

"Okay," Nina agreed.

* * *

Nina entered Maria's and Rodrigo's apartment. It was obvious Rodrigo had picked out the place. Even though she believed Maria's taste to be equally impeccable, she could imagine all too well that the architectural elegance of the rooms was something that would immediately enchant someone working in that field. The apartment had a lot of windows and since it was on the topmost floor of the building, it had a lot of floodlights as well. So basically the whole place was light-flooded, which was even more accentuated by the interior decoration. Lots of whites, wood floors, and wide open spaces.

The kitchen was modern, just like the rest of the apartment. It slightly reminded Nina of those kitchens you saw on cooking shows on TV. Clearly it belonged to someone who enjoyed a home-cooked meal and good food in general, since it came equipped with all sorts of useful utensils: knife blocks, mixers, pans… She took a seat on one of the stools around the kitchen island while Maria rummaged inside the fridge for some soft drinks.

During the drive over Maria had carefully avoided asking Nina about what the other problem was, something for which Nina would be eternally grateful.. But now she could tell Maria was finding it more and more difficult to avoid the topic, because her attempts of conversation grew clumsier and clumsier. They had already covered her upcoming wedding and the difficulties she had encountered organizing it. It had been enough to keep them entertained the way over from the office and the last half an hour, but now conversation was dwindling down.

It wasn't like Nina didn't want to tell Maria. She only had certain reservations about what to tell her and what not. She trusted her, but as she had said earlier, she was not accustomed to telling people about her most private thoughts. Talking about Stephen without mentioning his name, anything specific about his looks or what he did for a living was difficult. It meant she had to immediately cut right to the chase of the matter. Her feelings.

She had a choice now. She could either keep it bottled up, like her parents had taught her, or she could come out with it and get some of those things off her chest that were bothering her. If there was one thing she had learned the hard way in the last couple of years, it was that asking for help wasn't a crime. She needed to cut herself some slack. She wasn't an island. She couldn't do everything on her own. Maria was willing to listen, so it would be foolish to not take up that offer.

"I'm seeing someone," Nina blurted out abruptly.

Maria stopped rummaging inside the fridge and turned around with two bottles of Coke in her hands. The expression on her face was surprised, but in a positive way. "Finally! I thought you would never admit it. What's his name? What's he like?"

Nina cringed when she was confronted with those questions. What was she to tell her friend? If she answered those questions, she would give everything away, so she decided to compromise. "He's not from Stamford. He's a…businessman, does a lot of travelling," she answered evasively.

"So that's where you went when you took those two days off," Maria concluded and Nina confirmed her suspicion with a cautious nod. Maria's curiosity, however, didn't seem to be sated thanks to those two little morsels of information. "Come on! You have to give me a little more! What does he look like?" Her friend was leaning with her upper body on the kitchen counter. She pushed the Coke across the island towards Nina. It slid smoothly over the polished stone surface. She caught it and looked down at the glass bottle. As if she needed more caffeine and sugar now. She was already nervous.

"I suppose he's handsome…," she started hesitantly.

"You suppose?" Her friend grinned. "What does that mean?" Maria enquired, talking the first sip of her drink.

Nina thought for a moment. "He's handsome, but absolutely not the guy I would have pictured myself going for if you had asked me a couple of months ago."

Maria propped up her chin on her hand. "How so?"

"You remember how I told you that I didn't have a type?" Maria nodded. "That's not strictly true. I guess you can say I've always had a thing for slightly nerdy guys…," she admitted embarrassedly.

"Seriously?" Maria laughed. "Then I can't help but wonder why you didn't fall for Luke…"

"Yikes! Maria! Luke? No, that would be like incest. He's like the little goofball of a brother I always wanted, but never got." Maria had to grin at her friend's concise, but spot-on evaluation of Luke's character. "Don't get me wrong, I love Tim, but we've grown apart since we were children," Nina continued with a slightly depressed tone to her voice. "He's a party animal. I was a loner during my college years. Always wore black and wrote depressing little poems. He's tan and charming. I'm pale and talk a mile a minute."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Ninetta. You're a good person. Believe me," Maria told her with a kind smile.

"Thanks," Nina smiled back at her before she took a drink from the bottle herself. She hadn't drank Coke in a while, so at first it tasted almost disgustingly sweet until her taste buds grew accustomed to the amount of sugar in it again.

"You were going to tell me some more about that mystery man of yours...," Maria tried to get the conversation back on track. "So he's good looking, but not your type. Makes me wonder how you two actually ended up together."

"He's got this thing about him. It's hard to describe," Nina sighed in exasperation. "There's something about his personality. It's like he's always teasing me, challenging me, provoking me, but then again he manages to be the sweetest kind of person without even trying… I think the bottom line is I fell for him because of one of his smiles."

Maria chuckled. "Sounds like you got it bad."

"Yeah," Nina grimaced and as she thought of Stephen that grimace turned into a smile. Oh, God! She was so lost and in over her head it wasn't even funny. "So bad actually that I blurted out an 'I love you' before he did."

"Really?" Maria's eyebrows nearly disappeared in her hairline when she heard that. "Did he say it back?"

"Yes, but the point is that we've known each other for like… like… I don't know, this comparatively short amount of time and I start springing out the 'I love yous' already. Don't you get it? That's completely crazy!"

"It would have been crazy if he hadn't said it back. But since he did, I think it's okay. He obviously feels the same about you," Maria said carefully.

A slow smile started spreading on Nina's face, but it just as quickly evaporated again as more pessimistic thoughts manifested in her head. "Yeah, but Maria, you don't get what type of person I am. I tend to obsess about things. You show me a movie about Beethoven. If I like the movie, I will start listening to Beethoven's music all the time until the next thing comes along. I'm afraid it's going to be the same with him. What if this feeling goes away? I would be leading him on. That would make me a liar. The worst kind of scum on the planet..."

"Hmmm," Maria let out a long pensive hum and took a drink from her bottle. She placed it down on the kitchen counter and rounded it to come to stand next to Nina. She placed her hand on her shoulder. Nina looked at her questioningly and Maria smiled at her. Nina reciprocated that smile with one of her own that was slightly more insecure and sad. At this point Maria came to the only correct conclusion. Her friend needed a hug, so hug her she did.

"Thank you," Nina said in a shaky voice when they let go of each other again.

"You're welcome. I think you're being too hard on yourself. And I don't think you're the type of person who throws around declarations of love like they don't mean anything. Just ask yourself this: When have you last told anyone that you love him?"

Nina thought hard. She thought back to her previous relationships. Some of those memories left her with an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth. Those relationships hadn't always ended on amicable terms. When had her last 'I love you' been? She couldn't even remember it. "It's been a long time," she finally said.

"See? So it's safe to assume you've been serious about it. As for how long it will last? Who can tell at this point? I mean you haven't been seeing each other for very long, right? The only thing for sure at this point is that you're both serious about it and that it's not some kind of fling to both of you," Maria told her. Thanks to the fact that she was more detached from the issue, she was able to see the bigger picture, something for which Nina was extremely thankful, because she wasn't able to.

"Maybe you're right," she said finally.

"Maybe?" Maria asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow. "It's extremely likely that I'm right!"

Nina grinned. "Okay," she confirmed.

"Can I ask you something?" Maria suddenly wanted to know. The overall casualness of her tone and the way she so abruptly asked the question caused Nina to be on her toes immediately.

"Sure," she said cautiously.

"Have you already slept with him?"

Nina blushed profusely, in fact all the way up to the roots of her hair. Her reaction made Maria giggle, which Nina commented with a disgruntled "Stop it!"

"Does that mean 'yes' or 'no'?" Maria decided to ask.

"No," Nina muttered gruffly, while she attempted to peel off the label of her glass bottle to hide her embarrassment. "I'm not some kind of idiot. I know that you're supposed to take it slow in that department when you're not sure about things."

"But you've been tempted?" Maria grinned.

"Are you kidding me? Tempted is the understatement of the century!"

"What stopped you? You're a grown woman. You're allowed to take what you want," Maria pointed out to her somewhat unnecessarily.

"Have you ever seen that "Sex and the City" episode where Samantha suggests to the girls to try having sex like a man?"

Maria grinned. "You watch "Sex and the City"?"

"I do," Nina smirked. "Now get over yourself and answer my question!"

"Yeah, I think I have. But don't ask me about any details. It's been a long time ago."

Nina waved her off impatiently. "It's not about the plot. The point is that having sex like a man is complete nonsense. Sure, sex can be impersonal, but not for the average person. It nearly always leads to complications, because it's a tool created by Mother Nature to make sure we populate the planet. Sleep with someone and you get the ultimate reward: an orgasm. Well, most of the time," Nina added her voice laced with so much irony it made Maria laugh. "Seen from a biological and anthropological point of view it's supposed to create a connection to enable you to raise your progeny together. So please tell me how that doesn't create a complication?"

Maria let out a sigh. "I wasn't asking about anthropology. Has anyone ever told you're the master of evasive tactics? Couldn't you have used simpler words to say you don't sleep around?"

"No," Nina crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "Because I need you to understand that I'm a fucked up romantic. I know all those things and yet again I still believe you need to be in love with the person you want to have sex with."

"But that way it only hurts more if it doesn't work out," Maria pointed out the obvious flaw in Nina's logic to her.

"That's what's kept me hesitating."

"Kept?" Maria repeated.

"Yeah, I think it doesn't make any sense at this point to not do it. If this doesn't work out, I will suffer like a dog anyway."

"What makes you think it won't work out?"

Nina sighed. "I'm sure that we're both as sincere about our feelings as we can be, but I'm not so sure how to make this relationship work. He's travelling around a lot and we hardly get to spend any time together. I'm not after something conventional like the 2.5 kids and the white picket fence, but I want someone who's there for me. I want a partner in every sense of the word, which is a bit fucked up, because I'm not sure if I can take it. I have issues with relying on other people."

"Because you've been disappointed too often?"

Nina thought for a moment before she answered. "No, I think it's a personality thing. I am literally unable to ask for help. Well, most of the time. When I force myself, because I'm aware that it's not possible to always do things on my own, I can do it, like for example now, but the rest of the time it's me against the world. That's how it's always been. And it feels safe, because I know my own weaknesses and flaws. People don't get to disappoint me. I rarely give them the chance to. Usually the only one I end up disappointed with is myself."

"Wow," Maria said with a tiny bit of awe and shock in her voice.

"Yeah," Nina said dejectedly and with a little bit of sarcasm in the mix. "Surprise! I've got issues."

"You don't have issues. You're a human being. There's a difference," Maria correct her sternly.

"Thanks," Nina said, actually humbled by her friend's kindness and supportiveness.

"Don't mention it," Maria waved her off with a hand gesture. "Just answer me this: Is your guy aware that you're not looking for Prince Charming to rescue and protect you from the big, bad world, but a partner?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, you're my friend and I think you're an incredibly strong woman, but it must be hard for the average Joe to grow accustomed to the fact that he's dealing with a girl who doesn't want him to be her protector. After all, that's what men get told all their lives. That they need to be the strong ones, bring home the bacon, protect their woman," Maria rolled her eyes when she enumerated those things. After all, just like Nina, she worked in a male-dominated line of work and had to be tough in order to hold her own.

Maria did have a point. Would Steve be able to cope with her stubbornness and her need for independence? He was a man's man. That much anybody could tell without really getting to know him. He loved a good fight, small injuries only made him cock his eyebrow and carry on as if nothing had happened, he drank beer, went nuts over soccer… All in all the picture of someone oozing testosterone. Then again there was this other side to him he very rarely showed to anyone. When he wanted to, he could be thoughtful, sensitive and caring.

She concluded her thought process with a resigned "I don't know."

"Maybe you should talk to him about it…," Maria suggested.

"What am I supposed to say to him? Honey, I'm Miss Independent, I don't need you to fight my battles for me?" Nina asked her with a forlorn expression on her face.

"Tell him just like you told me," Maria shrugged her shoulders.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Maria confirmed.

"I don't know," Nina said. "Don't you think he would find that strange?"

"Depends on what sort of guy he is… Some guys need to be told straight to their faces. Others figure things out on their own, without having to be told. Subtle or straight-shooter?"

"Definitely straight-shooter," Nina laughed. "I've never seen him scandalized by anything that I've said yet, and that's quite something."

"Well, that's promising. Maybe you really should just come out and tell him," Maria suggested.

"Maybe I will," Nina said pensively.


	15. A Healthy Dysfunctional Relationship

**Author's** **note:** _Since the last chapter was mainly about feelings and thoughts, I wanted to give you something a bit more plot-driving now... So that's why you get two updates in one week. Also, because I love this part of the story. _

_ Punk81: Glad you liked the scene with Maria. I added that on an afterthought, actually some last-minute editing. Kind of glad though I did it now. There's not going exactly going to be a 'confrontation' as such... It's going to be a bit more complicated... You'll see._ ;-)

* * *

He called her in the middle of the night to tell her that they would soon see each other again. The tone of his voice was disturbingly cheerful and she could just imagine the maniacal glint in his blue eyes. Then again, she could understand his enthusiasm rather well, but the word 'soon' was thoroughly frustrating.

"So when are you going to be here?" she asked for at least the third time during their talk on the phone.

He kept evading her question. The last time he had gone as far as to say it was a secret. She had joked and retorted that there were no secrets in a healthy relationship which had gotten her nowhere. Well, not exactly nowhere. He had dissolved in hysterical laughter at her remark. She had made a face and called out his name in irritation several times. To amuse him had not been her top priority. Then the bastard had even gone and dared to tease her back and asked whether she thought their relationship was a particularly healthy one.

That remark had her fuming silently, but it was not enough to distract her from the fact that there was something strange about this phone call. What was more than fishy about it was that she had at first heard the distinct noises of an airport in the background. Then again, he always travelled around, so maybe that wasn't that unusual. Now that those noises were gone she wasted no more thought on that. He still owed her an answer to her question after all. But the question as well as his potential answer to it became superfluous when she heard a voice ask whether he wanted to be dropped off at the beginning or at the end of her street. Apparently he was in a cab.

"Ha!" she cried out. "You're such a damn liar!" She ran towards the window and sure enough saw him get out of a taxi downstairs. He looked up and judging by the broad smile on his face; spotted her right away. It was a mystery how he could be smiling at her, because she didn't look all too glamorous. It was Monday night, somewhere around 11:30, she was wearing some ratty old sweatpants and a faded T-shirt because she had counted on spending the evening alone, curled up on the sofa. She had taken the week off from work, so her staying up late was nothing unusual.

"Is that you down there?" she asked dumbly.

"Well, yes. Or do you know any other red-haired Irish fellas who are bound to drop in on you at this time a night?" it was hard not to hear the added eye roll in his voice.

"Let me think…," she grinned. "There's O'Brian, O'Connell, O'Leary…"

"Aaah, lass, now you're just making things up! You might just as well admit that you've never come across such a fine specimen of an Irishman as yours truly and that's that," he laughed.

She looked down her window once more, still amazed to see him standing there. He even had the cheek to wave at her and wink." Not that I'm not glad to see you, Mr Fine-Specimen, but how did you get here? You must have done your bit on the show and then basically jumped on the next plane…"

"Basically yes," he replied.

"You're crazy," she said with a smile that was also clearly audible in her voice.

"Well, yes. You've only figured that out now?" He had by now disappeared from her sight and she became acutely aware of the fact that he would be standing in front of her door in a couple of seconds, so she ran to the bathroom and quickly rinsed her mouth with mouthwash. It was rather senseless to engage in another one of those battles she always fought with her hair, so she didn't even attempt to fix it.

"Are you still there?" came his voice over the cellphone.

"Yeah, of course," Nina answered as she quickly carried the dirty dishes from dinner from the living room to the kitchen.

And then there was finally that knock at the door she had been waiting for and dreading at the same time. Barefoot she ran towards the door and ripped it open. The smile on her face was mad, euphoric and matched his.

Nina let out a loud squeal-like sound and launched herself at him. He caught her and lifted her off her feet. She peppered his cheek with tiny enthusiastic kisses. He laughed at her exuberance and tightened his embrace. He loved the feeling of holding her in his arms again.

When she was done with his cheek, she pressed a long closed-mouthed kiss to his lips. The by now familiar tickle of his beard against her skin made her grin slightly against his mouth.

Since she was rather unwilling to let go of him again after having spent almost two weeks without him, she slung her legs around his waist in an unexpected display of athleticism.

"What's that? Have you suddenly turned into a human koala bear?" Despite his mocking words he loved every minute of this. He grinned at her and retrieved his duffle bag from the floor with his left. It cost him a bit of an extra effort and looked rather ungraceful, but he was able to manage it. For once he felt grateful that he put himself through a grueling workout each day, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to pull this off. He would probably have tipped over thanks to her extra weight. One more odd reason he loved his job. Being a wrestler enabled him to carry her around like this. He grinned.

"Don't expect me to let go of you again," she told him, now holding onto him with her arms slung around his neck as well, because it had become too bodily exhausting relying solely on the strength of her thighs.

He closed the door behind them, kicking it shut with his leg. Now that they were away from the corridor and those potentially prying eyes behind the spyholes, they kissed properly. A lot of that repressed sexual energy that had been left to simmer for days and weeks went into that kiss. She could feel his hands traveling up her knees to her thighs. The touch of those hands didn't falter. It was confident, especially when he cupped her backside and gave it a slight squeeze. She parted her lips in response.

Their kiss quickly turned more heated. There was something about the way he put those lips and his tongue to use that drove her crazy. "Sofa," she whispered to him when they separated briefly after another long and deep kiss. He started walking towards the sofa. To be honest, it was rather an uncoordinated stumble instead of a walk, because he was distracted by her lips on his neck.

Her legs finally let go his waist and she slowly slid down along his body until she came to stand in front of him. The fact that she held eye contact with him the entire time added something provocative to that move. He grinned down at her. She grinned back.

"This wasn't supposed to be a booty call," he told her, trying to ignore the fact that her right hand had travelled underneath his T-shirt and was presently resting on his lower back, her thumb stroking up and down his vertebrae with maddening slowness. The way she was looking at him, those eyes filled with adoration and longing, was making it hard for him to keep his thoughts out of the gutter and behave decently. She was standing close and her proximity took away his ability to think clearly. Frankly he was quite surprised he'd been able to string together a coherent sentence.

"Honey, your honorable intentions are really cute. But seriously, you leave me here alone for how long? Two whole weeks! And then you come back, in the middle of the night no less and expect this not to turn into a booty call? Are you kidding me?" Her fingers dug into his shirt and grabbed a fistful of its material to draw him closer to her. She found no resistance. He closed the distance between them and slung his arms around her tightly. They kissed slowly and deeply. When the kiss ended, they discovered to their surprise that they had ended up stretched out on the couch, with him on top of her.

"Woah! No idea how that happened," he said with a grin, which that up close made her insides tingle.

"Shut up and kiss me!" she told him impatiently.

"Gladly," he grinned. He started kissing her neck. He had spent hours fantasizing about doing that in the loneliness of his hotel room. It turned out that his imagination didn't manage to do reality justice. The sound she made in response to his lips on her skin was a mixture of a sigh and a giggle. Well, he hadn't expected that. He looked at her with a facial expression that seemed to say "What the bleeding hell is going on with you?"

She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand and let her fingers trace over his beard. "Scruffy," was her one word explanation, which was delivered with a smile.

Without giving it much thought he traced his own fingers over his chin. "I'd shave, but that would get me into a world of trouble with the higher ups," he told her.

A mischievous smirk lit up her face. "Don't you dare. And whoever said anything about shaving? I can't wait to discover in which other places I'm ticklish as well."

He couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Who knew you'd be such a little minx..."

"Well," she raised an eyebrow, "Catholic school girl..."

"Right. That explains a lot," he grinned and kissed her neck again. "Well, buckle up, lass, you'll be saying a lot of Hail Marys come next Sunday."

She laughed, but her laughter grew somewhat breathy when his teeth grazed over her skin. His caresses were a bit like his personality - a blend of soft and slightly rough, which was fine by her. Actually it felt just right. Well, admittedly just right was the understatement of the century. It felt perfect.

She had an idea. Maybe, just maybe, she could make this just as good for him. She was all about giving back. With a devilish grin she let her hands wander lower and slid them into the back pockets of his jeans. She gave his butt a squeeze that maneuvered his lower body closer to hers. Her touch didn't leave him unaffected. His reaction came instantly. She felt his tongue brush against her skin and she squirmed in his arms. She gasped a little, not expecting this little teasing gesture to fire back at her. She had wanted to stay in control, now it turned out she was slowly losing it.

Her fingers had just started unbuttoning his shirt, when she thought she heard a knock at the door. It must have been her mind playing her a trick. She was in tactile overload and what kind of sense did a knock at her door make at this time a night? It was probably all in her mind. She had more important things to concern herself with than her overactive imagination acting up. The only thing she cared about right now was this wonderful specimen of a man and what he was currently doing to her. After all these weeks of waiting, anticipation was killing her. And he did his best to make this anticipation grow. His hands were at the hem of her top. He slowly pulled it upwards. His knuckles brushed over the skin of her belly in the process and made her suck in a mouthful of air. He tugged the shirt over her head and threw it across the room.

He was straddling her hips as he looked down at her. Her eyes travelled down from his face over his neck to vast expanse of pale muscular chest that unbuttoned shirt exposed. Her hands slipped underneath the fabric. They established eye contact. As always it was "either or" with her. Right now she seemed almost cocky, but knowing her that could change just as quickly.

He was fascinated by her. By the confidence she exuded despite being stretched out half-naked on the couch in front of him. He let his eyes roam over her body. The black fabric of her bra set off nicely against her pale skin. There was a freckle next to her belly button. He let his thumb run over it and she shuddered.

Her body wasn't toned by grueling workouts, but she was beautiful nevertheless. She was slender, yet had some curves on her in just the right places. It was a paradox, but a lot of things about her were and he wouldn't have it any other way. He was about to lean down to pay those curves of her the attention they deserved... Bam! Bam! Bam! "Nina!" a distinctly male voice called out.

The knocking became more and more insistent and was suddenly undeniably there. He hadn't imagined it. He let his head sink against her collar bone. "Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!" Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck in consolation. "Whoever's standing in front of that door is going to get his ass kicked," she whispered to him. They exchanged glances. "By me. Not you," she clarified and bit her bottom lip. He smiled and nodded.

The voice of her brother wafted through the door. "Nina, I saw the light in your window, so I know you're there." The woman in question just rolled her eyes. Of all the times he could have dropped by this week he chose this precise day, this precise moment? Was the universe kidding her?

"It's my fucking brother. I have to let him in," she whispered to Stephen, who nodded and slowly got up. When he was standing in front of the couch, he reached out his hand to her and gently helped her up. Standing on her own two feet again, she let go of his hand. His fingers slipped through her grasp. After taking one more regretful look at him, she started walking towards the door.

"Erm..., luv? It might be a good idea to put a top on first," he told her with a somewhat sheepish smile, as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Of course," she blushed and quickly collected her T-shirt from the floor to pull it over her head. Now that she was fully clothed again, she made her way to the door. The first few steps felt like walking in a drunken haze, but as she took another one and another one the dizziness gradually receded and her head cleared.

She ripped open the door. It revealed a young man in his mid-twenties. He looked exactly like one of those preppy types from those shiny promotional brochures universities liked to distribute. White teeth, unruly blonde hair, tanned skin, good looking. The type of person you can't say 'no' to when you're on the receiving end of one if his charming smiles.

"Timmy," Nina greeted her brother, who immediately stormed past her. "Why don't you come in?" she ironically suggested to the deserted hallway, which he had occupied only seconds earlier. Unable to find another outlet for her anger at the moment, she slammed the door shut behind him.

"Oh my God!" she heard Tim exclaim only seconds later. He had obviously just reached the living room. Her brother was a huge sports fanatic. Whenever he switched on the TV, he tended to watch sports transmissions exclusively.

"Nina," her brother retreated into the hallway with an uncertain and almost bewildered expression on his face, which let her forget most of the aggression she had harbored towards him before. "Why is Sheamus in your living room?"

She smiled. "Hmmm, I don't know. Maybe he climbed out of that flat screen and ended up in my living room. Why don't we ask him, huh?"

"That's not funny," Tim told her, but followed her to the living room nevertheless.

"Stephen, that's my brother Tim," she threw the Irishman a pointed look that communicated some of her exasperation. "Tim, meet Stephen Farrelly aka Sheamus."

Tim immediately surged forward to shake the other man's hand with a grin. Round about now he had probably realized that the pro-wrestler in his sister's living room wasn't a figment of his imagination.

"Nice to meet you, mate," Stephen told him as they shook hands. A flat out lie, but right now, what did it matter? They couldn't possibly tell him that he had interrupted them working their way to second base and that the resulting sexual frustration was killing them.

Tim had not yet come to the point where the situation made any sense to him. Fortunately. "Yeah, nice to meet you, too, but what are you doing at my sister's apartment?"

Stephen's eyes inevitably darted to Nina. What was he supposed to answer to that question? Before they could combine their efforts to concoct a decent excuse for his being there in the middle of the night, Tim drew his own conclusions. His eyes narrowed. "Wait, are you screwing my sister?"

The expression on Stephen's face could at best be described as mortified. Nina and he both quickly chorused the word "no" in unison.

"He's not screwing me, Timmy," Nina told her brother in a voice that was laden with reproach. She only called him Timmy when she was extremely annoyed with him. "We're...," she briefly searched for the right word.

"Together?" Stephen suggested.

She smiled softly and nodded. It was the first time both of them actually acknowledged that.

"He's my boyfriend," she told Tim with a quite a bit of pride in her voice.

"What?!" Her brother asked with eyes that had grown so huge in his surprise he almost looked like a caricature of himself. His surprise, however, went by unnoticed because Nina and Stephen were currently busy smiling at each other.

"Have you told mom?" That question got Nina's immediate attention.

"Are you crazy? This is rather new. So no. Why should I tell mom?"

"I don't know? Maybe because she's totally gonna have a coronary," Tim grinned.

"Wait? What? A coronary? What does he mean?" Stephen had the good sense to ask.

Nina sighed. She would have liked to postpone the moment of informing Stephen that her mom tended to behave like a harpy when confronted with her boyfriends indefinitely. Actually, why introduce him to her at all? If ever things got as serious as in 'till-death-do-us-part' eloping in Vegas was still an option, right? Also, there was a huge chance of that never happening because marriage in general wasn't really in her plans.

"Nothing," she tried to reassure the Irishman who was looking at her with a worried expression on his face.

Tim had the nerve to chuckle, so Nina shot him a glare to silence him. "As even you might have figured out by now, Timmy, now is not the time for a courtesy call. So what brings you here?"

"Sandy has thrown me out," her brother admitted sheepishly.

"No wonder. She's your ex after all…"

"My ex who's two months pregnant with my child," Tim told her in a relatively neutral tone of voice.

Nina just gaped at her brother. "I swear if that's a fucking joke I'm going to rip out..."

The two male occupants of the room never got to hear in what way Nina was going to mutilate her brother.

"It's true," Tim confirmed before she could continue.

"Oh. My. God! I think I can't breathe. Oh my God!" she sank down on the couch and barely registered Stephen's consoling hand on her shoulder. Nina looked at her brother again like she was seeing him for the first time. "Is that why you dropped out of university?" She asked in a very small voice.

"Yes, after all someone needs to bring home some money. How do you think this is going to work if neither of us has a job?" Tim explained as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Right." Nina said. The way she was staring down at the carpet was preoccupying. She seemed to be in shock. Stephen sat down next to her and laid his hand on her knee to get her attention. She turned her head and her eyes settled on him, but it was like she was looking through him, not at him.

Tim beat him to voicing the question that was lying on the tip of his tongue. "Are you okay, Nina?"

She shook herself. The vacant expression on her face was replaced by a frown. "Am I okay?" her tone was sharp and let both men's ears perk up. Uh-oh! "Are you deficient? Of course I'm not okay. You tell me you're about to be a dad and you expect me to punch the air or something?! I love you Tim, but just give me a fucking break!" She ran her hand through her hair nervously while she frantically tried to figure out what to do. She came up with a temporary solution pretty quickly that would also buy her some time. "I need a drink and then we talk." Those words were accompanied by a stern glance thrown in Tim's direction.

"Could you get me a drink...," the rest of Tim's sentences remained unsaid, because she just gave him a seething glare before she stood up and started walking to the kitchen.

"I guess not," Tim said in a small voice.

The two men, who suddenly found themselves alone inside the living room with no other thing in common except that they both were rather close to Nina, looked at each other uneasily.

"Excuse me, mate," Stephen said after a long and healthy dose of awkward silence and got out of his seat to follow Nina to the kitchen.

He found her standing on the balls of her feet, muttering curses under her breath as she tried in vain to reach a bottle of Scotch that was standing on the topmost shelf of the kitchen cupboard. He stepped up behind her without hesitation. His upper body pressed into her back as he reached for the bottle and took it off the shelf. He placed the bottle next to her on the kitchen counter and she leaned back into his strong chest with a sigh.

"You're not supposed to see me like this. I'm having a weak moment. I'm thinking about doing something ridiculous like running away to go on a backpack-tour through Europe. Anywhere away from my brother's crazy problems. You can come too if you want," she was trying for humorous, but he heard the dejection in her voice.

"Not a good idea. Once you start running, you usually end up running in circles. You can do it, you'll see. You stay and we'll see this through together," he told her gently.

She sighed and he saw her eyes watering. "Don't be too nice to me. Nice gets me crying in situations like this."

"What am I supposed to do? Kick you in the shin and then bugger off?" he asked incredulously.

She just shrugged.

"Your previous boyfriends must have been a bunch of cafflers," she had no idea what 'caffler' meant, but judging by the context it had to mean something like 'idiots'. He left her no time to contemplate that odd word any longer, as he continued right away. "You deserve to be treated like royalty, darlin'," he told her and kissed the top of her head. True to her earlier words she started to snivel a little and he pulled her closer against his chest. Her vulnerability brought out some unexpected feelings in him. He was torn between going over to the living room to knock her brother's arse into next Sunday and the wish to hold her in his arms and fight off any possible harm that could befall her.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually, wiping at her eyes sheepishly. "This is so not how I wanted this evening to go." Nina threw him a timid glance over her shoulder. "I hope that's not enough to scare you off... But then again I wouldn't hold it against you if you felt like running away and never talking to me again. Any sane person would."

He gentle touched her shoulders and turned her around. "Sanity's overrated," he told her softly and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "You'd have to have a whole army of dickbrain brothers to drive me off, lass." The expression on her face was still somewhat dejected, so he kissed her cheek. She smiled. It was a weak and rather fleeting smile.

"Nina...," he sighed and pulled her into an embrace, willing her to find the strength to summon up that plucky, spunky part of her personality that was presently drowned out by tons of insecurity. "Come on, luv. This is not the end of the world."

She leaned her forehead against his chest. "I know," her voice was a bit muffled because strictly speaking she was talking into his shirt. "Just sucks, that's all."

"Yeah," he stroked the top of her head with a tenderness she hadn't thought him capable of. He always managed to surprise her. She looked up at him.

"Call me crazy, but strangely this sucks less when you're around," she admitted. This was her at her most vulnerable. He saw it in the way she was looking at him with those big round eyes. He wouldn't abuse her trust. He'd handle her with care. Like a china doll. Even if his big hands were kind of clumsy and he didn't quite know what to say or do to make it better.

"Just say the word and I'm going to stay." His palm cupped her cheek and she leaned into it. It was strong and rough and provided a strange kind of solace.

"You don't have to do this. You can leave. I wouldn't hold it against you. This situation's all kinds of fucked up," she told him in all seriousness.

He looked down at her sincere face and a wave of frustration swept over him. She didn't always have to prove to the rest of the world, including herself, that she was fiercely independent. "But I want to," he told her. He could see she had trouble grasping the meaning of his words. "If I left, do you honestly think I would have one peaceful minute tonight? Me mind would always go back to this situation and to how I failed you. Like it or not. I've got your back. You can choose to lean on me or not. Whatever you decide, I'm here for you."

She gulped as she looked up at him. She hadn't expected him to say that. She hadn't expected that degree of loyalty and support from him after that short a time.

"I don't lean," she said in terms of an explanation.

"I know that," he smiled. "You're too stubborn for that. At least let me take your hand. You don't have to do everything alone." Of course he meant that metaphorically, but to make his point he held out his hand to her invitingly. It took several seconds and an encouraging wiggle of his fingers before she finally took it.

"Now do you still want some of that Scotch, luv?" he grinned at her.

"Yes, please!" she told him enthusiastically.

He smiled and let go of her in order to reach inside the open kitchen cupboard behind her and produce two whiskey glasses from it. He placed them on the kitchen counter. "How much? Two-fingers-worth or the 'Oh-me-God-me-brother-is-an-arse' version?"

She actually laughed at his remark. "Does that mean up to the rim?"

"Yep," he confirmed.

"I'll have the 'Oh-me-God-me-brother-is-an-arse' version," she smirked despite the overall seriousness of the situation.

Stephen just nodded and poured them two glasses of Scotch. He held out the glass to her.

"Slainte, me luv. Drink your medicine." She grabbed the glass and took a deep drink of it. They looked at each other with matching grimaces on their faces as the liquor burned down their throats and quite inevitably they both had to smile.

"I can't finish that glass. I'm going to end up drunk like hell," Nina told him.

He grinned. "Bit off more than you can chew, eh?"

"Yeah," she smiled at him.

"If me grandfather is to be believed there isn't such a thing as too much whiskey. You know he always says that the juice of barley curse all ills," he told her.

"I'm not sure that's correct. Wasn't there some saying about an apple a day?"

"Nah, don't listen to that. That's a lot of guff. Might be true if you were a horse, luv, which you most definitely are not, beautiful, smart thing that you are," he kissed her cheek.

"Beautiful? Smart? I've got to say I feel better all ready. But I've got a suspicion it's not the whiskey," she shot him an affectionate gaze, which clarified what she meant. However, as her own words started to sink in, she eventually grimaced. "You know what? Just pretend like you haven't heard anything. That was way too sappy."

"Then why did you say it?" he grinned and pulled her against his chest in a one-armed hug. "Besides I kind of like that romantic side of yours."

"You're just saying so because you're only pretending to be this tough guy. I bet you secretly have a collection of chick flicks at home and get your favorite one out once a month to have a good cry…," she teased him right back.

"Yeah, I didn't know that Mel Brooks' movies qualified as chick flicks…Me bad," he rolled his eyes at her. "Definitely no weepin' involved there, except for laughter maybe."

"Funny, I had you pegged for the sort of guy who likes movies were stuff explodes…"

"That's the other half of the shelf," he grinned.

"So it's actually me who brings out the softie in you, huh? Interesting…," she remarked.

"You're not only making me go soft, darlin'. Just think back a couple of minutes, you had me going…," she quickly covered his mouth with her hands, trying to keep that filthy remark he was about to make from coming out.

"Ewww," she looked at him in disapproval and she could see the laughter in his eyes, even though his mouth was covered by her hands. He pulled them away with his own.

"Feeling better now? I thought a bit of that ol' back and forth would put you at ease…"

"A bit," she told him, her face already looking somewhat dejected again at the thought of heading back into the living room to face her brother once again. "But I guess there's no use postponing the inevitable…," she sighed and reached for her glass once more and took another deep drink of the whiskey. "Now I'm good to go. Let's do this," she told him, shuddering slightly because the strong taste of liquor had numbed her taste buds temporarily.


	16. Gasoline, Matches and Cold Water

**Author's note**: _Thank you for your help, your input and general awesomeness, UntilNeverDawns! (aka best beta in the world!) _

_Thank you, dear readers. You're pretty awesome, too. Wanna know how to increase your level of awesomeness? Hit the review button. That should do the trick._ :) 

* * *

When they came back, Tim greeted them with the words: "What'd you do in there? Drink a whole bottle of Scotch?"

"No, I had to console your sister because she was bloody devastated by the news you've just given her," Stephen told Tim, which shut him up effectively. No wonder, when you're told off by a man twice your size and stature that usually does the trick. Also, behind Stephen's scolding words there was the not so subtle subtext that he thought Nina's brother to be a complete wanker.

Inevitably two sets of eyes landed on him. Neither one of the Stewart siblings had expected him to say that and with quite so much vehemence to his tone. Their reactions, though, varied extremely. While Nina beamed at his remark, Tim pulled a sour face. His expression took a serious turn towards moroseness when he noticed how close his sister and Stephen were sitting on the couch and that they were holding hands.

"So...," Nina scooted to the edge of her seat. "How did it happen?" Despite of what had just transpired, both men shot her amused looks. Did she really want a lecture about the facts of life? "Oh, shut up! Of course, I know how. That's not what I wanted to know. I mean why didn't you use protection?"

Tim smile sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "We did. It just wasn't very effective. Funny thing is it turned out that I kind of washed my trousers with the condom in it."

Nina let out a disbelieving groan. "Timmy..."

"Yeah, I know."

"What are you going to do now? Why did she throw you out anyway?" she asked, managing to suppress her anger in favor of some much needed compassion.

Tim seemed to sense that too because his posture relaxed and his tone of voice grew much less defensive. "I got frustrated with the situation, so instead of talking to her, I started chatting with some friends online."

"Female friends?" Tim confirmed her suspicion with a nod. "And she somehow ended up reading your chat history?" Nina supplied. Tim nodded again, looking down at the carpet with something akin to shame. Unwittingly, his mannerisms catapulted his sister about 15 years back into the past when her obnoxious little brother had still been a child and it had often been up to her to console him whenever he fell and bust open his knee or lost his favorite toy. She was his fix-it person and because she loved him, despite the fact that the years had taken away most of this closeness, she was still willing to act that part in his life. She reached out to grab his hand. His head shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected her to do that.

The baffled look on his face made her smile. "Hey, Tim, it's going to be okay. We're going to see this through. Remember? After all we are a team, you and I," she told him and actually made him smile for the first time since he had walked through the door.

"So you're really going to help me?" He asked sort of desperately.

She nodded. "Of course, you're my baby brother after all..."

"How? I've got no idea how to pull this off...," he said, raking his hand through his blonde hair.

"Well, I don't either," she sighed. "The only thing I know is that now it's too late to cook up a decent battle plan. Let's just sleep on it and tomorrow we'll see what we can do... One thing, though before we call it a night," she interjected before the conversation had the chance to dissolve before her very eyes. It was time to ask a question that had been bugging her ever since they'd started talking and it was about time she asked it. "Have you tried talking to Sandra?"

"There was no talking to her what with all the angry screaming she was doing...," Tim said and made both Nina and Stephen cringe in sympathy.

"So maybe we should start there. You should try to call her tomorrow when she has calmed down and if we're lucky and she agrees, we can maybe drive over to her place and try to fix things," Nina suggested with a shrug. "But," she added in an afterthought, "I definitely think you should not go there empty handed. Flowers, teddy bears, chocolates... pull out all the stops. You're lucky if she takes you back."

"Don't I know it," Tim growled under his breath, which made Nina smirk.

"Well, it's kind of late now. Do you have a place to go?" she asked her brother, hoping and praying deep inside that he would say 'yes'. After all that would buy her and Stephen a couple of hours of alone-time. Of course, no such luck.

"No. Can I crash here?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course, you idiot. My couch is your couch. You know that," she sighed. Did it make her a bad sister that she wanted nothing more than to grab him and shove him out of her apartment? She shook herself, trying to get rid of those egotistical thoughts. Fortunately she managed, to some degree, which enabled her to get out of her seat to give her brother a genuine and heartfelt hug.

Stephen observed the whole scene with a smile. He was quite proud of Nina and how she had managed to keep her temper in check in favor of helping her brother.

Tim let go of his sister and shot Stephen a somewhat suspicious look. "What about him? If I get the couch, where will he be sleeping?"

"Well, where do you think?" Nina put her arms akimbo and stared at her brother pointedly. "You really wanna argue with me about sleeping arrangements after what you just told me, genius?"

"No?" he said and grinned at her sheepishly.

"Thought so," Nina gave him an approving nod.

"Listen, I've got nothing against you, man," Tim decided to address Stephen.

"Yeah, I know. No hard feelings. I get it. I've got two sisters meself," Stephen raised his hands in an appeasing gesture.

"If it helps any, we're surely not going to do the nasty with you next door," Nina tried to calm her brother.

"Nina!" Stephen looked at her in surprise. "I'd never... Not with him around," he spluttered in indignation. It didn't come as a big surprise to her that that was one of the things Stephen was rather traditional and conservative about. Nina had to laugh at the expression on his face and patted his cheek in reassurance. He swatted away her hand with an exasperated eye roll, which didn't manage to hide the affection that was also present in his gaze.

Tim chuckled quietly. "Guys, you have no idea how surreal this whole thing is!"

"Surreal?" Nina asked in surprise.

"Nina, you're dating the Celtic Warrior for crying out loud!" Tim motioned at Stephen who inevitably buffed his chest. Almost out of reflex Nina slapped Stephen's upper arm (a preemptive strike to keep his ego from inflating) and he just shrugged his shoulders with a grin.

"He's the Celtic Warrior? Wow, I had no idea. I thought he was just some Irish guy I bumped into at work. And there I thought he just was on all of those posters because he was cute. I kind of feel silly now. Nobody's ever told me anything about that..." The irony was practically dripping off each of Nina's words.

"Cute?" Stephen repeated with a grin. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But be careful, Tim's such a fan boy, he'll steal one of your T-shirts while you're fast asleep and have you sign it during breakfast..."

"Please," Tim scoffed, "I'm not that much into wrestling anymore."

"Right," a lot of sarcasm was condensed into that single little word. "I just had to watch every single episode of Raw with you when you were a kid." She turned her head into Stephen's direction, feeling the need to clarify. "Mum didn't allow us to watch, so we had to sneak down to the TV late at night to watch the reruns."

"Really?" Stephen asked in wonder.

"Really," Tim nodded gravely.

"Well, that's a kick in the bollocks, mate," Stephen leaned forward and slapped her brother on the shoulder companionably.

"Sure is," Tim agreed.

Nina sighed. They were already starting to bond. She had a suspicion that once they became friends, her life would become a _lot_ more difficult. Her brother alone was trouble, in combination with Stephen he would be absolute mayhem.

"Okay," she yawned, "I don't know about you two, but I've been awake since six this morning, I kind of need some sleep right now."

Tim gave the couch a speculative look. "Do I at least get a blanket and a pillow?"

"No, you get to sleep on the ground," Nina drawled at Tim and shook her head at his stupid question. "Of course you do, you idiot. Let me quickly get everything ready for you. If you're hungry, which I'm sure you are, because you're always hungry, there's some leftover pizza in the fridge."

"Salami?" Tim called at his sister's retreating back.

"Yeah, Diavola," she called back and disappeared.

"Yum," Tim grinned at Stephen before he disappeared in the kitchen to pillage his sister's fridge.

Stephen stood up from the couch and walked over to the door to pick up his duffle bag and carry it into her bedroom. Last time he had been here, he had just been able to throw in a brief glance. But now he would actually do more than just look at her bedroom. He'd share a bed with her. While that was what he had been fantasizing about for the last two weeks, he hadn't counted on her brother staying at her apartment as well. He was still hovering in front of the door, when she breezed out again, her arms laden with blankets and a pillow.

She almost collided with him. When she noticed the expression on his face, a blend of pensiveness and skepticism, she actually had the nerve to laugh at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Steve."

He still hesitated.

"Get in there!" she followed up that order with a slight nudge of her head in the direction of the door.

He complied. He had just placed his bag on the floor next to the door when she was back.

"Goodnight," she called out in the general direction of the living room and the salute sounded back to them in Tim's deep voice. She closed the door with a satisfied nod.

Suddenly they were alone inside her bedroom and it was sort of awkward. Awkward, because in order to go to bed, they would both need to undress first.

It was by no means the first time he found himself inside a woman's bedroom. What was new about it though, was that they would be sharing the bed without having ever 'shared a bed', which made him more self-conscious about the whole thing.

She laughed and the sound effectively ripped him out of his thoughts. Actually he had a feeling that for once she was laughing at him, not with him. "You know that you prance around in little more than swimming trunks in front of millions of people on a twice weekly basis, right? So who of us should be nervous about taking off his clothes?" Apparently she was not only a writer, but a skilled mind reader.

His indecisiveness, he still hadn't budged an inch, made her roll her eyes and encouraged her to lead him over to the bed. "Sit!" she told him and he complied with a look of surprise on his face. She nudged his knees apart with her legs, so that she could stand between them. Her palms briefly came to rest on top of his chest before they started undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. There was something so intimate and personal about the moment that for once he did not dare speak or make a joke. He just let it happen. The look on her face was difficult to read. She was smiling, but there was something in her eyes that he hadn't seen this up close and personal before. Longing? Her eyes wandered over his pectoral muscles down to his stomach. She licked her lips. Longing - yes, definitely. He was sure that when she looked at his face, she saw it there as well.

Still holding his gaze, she slid her hands down his shoulders and she pushed back his shirt. He got out of the sleeves and placed the shirt on the mattress next to him.

For the second time tonight his fingers grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. It was like they were hypnotized by each other. They held eye contact the whole time, which was only broken for a short moment when the shirt blocked her line of vision. Her chest was rising and falling in short intervals now. The atmosphere in the bedroom was becoming heated despite the fact that they did little more than look at each other.

She gingerly placed on of her hands on his naked chest. "Let's not go near the pants," she said her voice sounding somewhat breathy. "I'm not sure I have that much self-control."

"Come on, you started this," he smirked. "If we're going to torture each other, let's at least do it properly. Or are you scared?"

She grinned back at him. "Scared? I eat boys like you for breakfast!"

"Boys?" He stood up and took a step closer. His fingers untied the knot that held up her sweatpants. His eyes were firmly settled on her face. He saw her look down as if she was waiting for his next move. He slowly pulled those pants down. With surprising gracefulness she stepped out of the trouser legs, first the right one and then the left.

Her face was hard to read, despite the little smirk she was wearing. It didn't have him fooled though. By now he was able to see past her false bravado. Her poker face was a little _too_ well practiced. There was a slight unease to the way she tried to tuck her short hair behind her ear that didn't need tucking back, because it was too short. Still it was hard to tell for him whether standing around in her underwear in front of him made her nervous or not. Only when her trembling and rather cold finger brushed against his sides, he knew for sure. She was very nervous. "Cold!" he sucked in his breath and reached for her hands to warm them between his own.

Nina only smirked. "A real man wouldn't mind if his girlfriend has cold hands or not."

"Those are not cold hands. They are bleedin' icicles," he deadpanned. "And let me assure you, darlin', I'm more than man enough for you."

"Big talk, though guy." Despite the fact that she was nervous like hell, she had to chuckle at his remark. It was probably that brief moment of levity and the challenge his words issued that managed to give her enough courage to reach down to undo the top button of his fly. "Let's check on that, shall we?" She slowly pulled the zipper down. A brief tug at his trousers and they fell down to his ankles. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, a sign that his self-control was waning, just like hers.

"So are you happy now that we've managed building up enough sexual frustration to last us for two lifetimes?" she asked him. Her voice was low and breathy to the point of almost sounding sultry. It made all kinds of naughty thoughts pop up in his head and conjured images that were definitely X-rated.

"Take a step back," he told her in a low voice. It was a precaution, because heaven knew what would happen if she continued standing this close. His fingers were itching to touch her and remove those pesky last remaining articles of clothing. He was only barely controlling himself. One more touch from her could be his undoing.

Nina eyes were unfocused. At his words they snapped back to his face. She noticed the way he was looking at her like he wanted to eat her all up. Pure lust. She licked her lips nervously. His eyes inevitably focused on her mouth. If he kissed her now, she would die. Then again she would also die if he didn't. They were standing too close to each other. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his naked torso, close enough to see his pupils dilate and close enough to notice that there were also less subtle and more prominent anatomical signs of his arousal

She finally took a cautious step back, but couldn't tear away her eyes from him. They lingered a bit too long on his muscular torso. He caught her watching and didn't even try to hide his triumphant smile. She quickly looked away. Black boxer briefs, her mind whispered to her.

"I thought your underwear would be green," she said. Mentally she gave herself a slap. "Don't talk about his underwear! You want to deescalate the situation. Not set fire to the fuse." She felt so shy and embarrassed she didn't even dare to glance at this part of his body longer than just a fraction of a second, which was stupid, because deep down she also was flattered. It looked like undressing each other had been as much of a turn on to him as it had been to her.

He surprised her with his laughter. It was a warm and pleasant sound and reassured her in a situation that had left her feeling somewhat self-conscious and insecure.

"Is that why you've been ogling me for the last five minutes? Cause you're surprised me knickers aren't green?" he teased.

"No," she licked her lips. "That's not quite it," she chuckled nervously. It was unfair how he could pull off being self-confident so easily in a moment like that.

"Care to explain?"

"Let's say I'm just finding out how much I'm actually physically attracted to you...," she told him, still staring at his torso.

"Hey, eyes up here, lass," he joked and tilted up her head with his fingers under her chin. She was surprised to look in a pair of blue eyes that were halfway serious, instead of completely mischievous like she had expected.

"So how deep exactly does that attraction run?" he asked her. His voice wasn't teasing. He really wanted to know. The air between them felt heavy with tension. She gulped. Her mouth had run dry.

"Please, don't make me answer that question..." Her voice sounded strained when she said those words.

"Why not?" Now of all times he had to smirk? And a sexy little smirk at that too?

"We don't want this situation to escalate, do we? You know how I have a tendency to let my mouth run away with me..."

"Tell me," he actually beckoned her with his hands to do it, "I can take it."

His cockiness actually got her a little angry. Now angry and turned on, that was a nasty combination. "You want to know how deep that attraction runs? Fine. I'll tell you. I think the last time I've been this horny and frustrated was back when I was a teenager. No, actually it's worse than that, because you standing around like this...," she motioned at his scarcely clad body, "in front of my bed is really unfair. It's like 'Hey, look at all that hunkiness you can't have!' It's so fucking frustrating. Because it makes me realize...," she momentarily stared at the carpet, then raised her eyes again to meet his, "It makes me realize how much I want you."

He moved very quickly. She let out a surprised squeal when roughly 260 pounds of aroused male pinned her to the wall and kissed her senseless. She responded eagerly. Her rational mind waved 'bye-bye' when he playfully bit her shoulder. She let out a soft moan that was muffled in a kiss as he backed her further into the wall until she was sandwiched between the cool stone and his warm muscular chest.

"Oh, God!" she breathed. His hand cupped her breast through her bra while the other one hooked up her leg. His breath tickled her ear. Her heart was racing and her body was shivering in anticipation of what was to come next.

Only that nothing came next. His hands abruptly stopped touching her and he banged his head against the wall behind her repeatedly. A muffled 'aaah' left his mouth followed by an impressive row of curses.

"Steve? Are you okay?" she asked timidly. He shook his head. "But you said you could take it," she said softly, unsure of what to do now. Obviously touching him wasn't a good idea at present. She awkwardly patted his back, trying to keep it platonic with a man she had distinctly non-platonic feelings for.

"I fecking lied," he said gruffly. "Don't go around saying stuff like that to a man with a massive bugle, unless you wanna go all the way!"

"You asked me to tell you, I told you," she said stubbornly.

"Well, what are ya doin' listenin' te me fer? Nobody listens te me! Do ah bloody look like a fella ya should ask fer advice on anythin'?" His Irish accent was more pronounced now, probably because he was aroused and irritated. Also not a good combination.

"You're right. Your advice is pretty stupid. 'Yeah, luv, let's go ahead and turn each other on till we almost can't take it anymore'," she did a little mock imitation of his voice and accent there. "Great, thinking indeed, Farrelly! Now we're on the same page again! Looks like we always end up frustrated and horny as hell when we see each other."

He laughed at her display of temper. She reminded him a lot of himself. Except that she was cute and female and had a deadly pair of knockers. "I don't think it was that bad of an idea. At least we know we're looking into a rosy future, right?" he hooked his finger under her bra strap. He pulled it a little away from her skin and let it snap back.

"Ouch, stop it!" she exclaimed and made a face.

"A particularly rosy one, by the look of your face," he grinned. She automatically touched her cheeks with her hands. They were glowing.

"I hate you!" she announced. In an attempt to hide her blush she turned around abruptly and stormed off towards her walk-in wardrobe, a little something she had inherited from the previous tenant of the apartment, who had obviously been female and a little bit too much into Sex and the City.

"Are you actually pouting?" he called after her.

"No," she growled back as she pulled an old Nirvana T-shirt over her head and quickly and discretely let her bra disappear inside the wardrobe with the grace and prowess of an escapologist. She put on some cotton shorts as well, which disappeared under her loose T-shirt. Clad like that, she returned to the bedroom, still pouting.

"Definitely pouting," he observed with a grin. He even topped up that teasing remark by lifting her T-shirt to check whether she wore any pants underneath. She swatted his greedy hands away with a little growl.

"You're too cheeky, Farrelly. Tone it down a notch!" she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. As she glared at him, she noticed he had regrettably put on a T-shirt, one of his trademark gray ones, and a pair of jersey shorts.

He leaned down, so he looked her straight in the eyes. She was expecting a kiss, an apology, what she got was a cheeky grin and the word "no".

"Oh, you...," the rest of the sentence was muffled by a kiss. He pulled her down to the bed. She landed on top of him. His hands were underneath her T-shirt and roamed over her back. Wait a second. There was something missing. She was completely naked underneath that shirt. His hands came to rest between her shoulder blades.

He broke the kiss to ask the inevitable question. She was lying on his chest, happy to watch him with her chin resting on her hands. She secretly enjoyed seeing that mischievous, slightly mad sparkle in his eyes. It gave her a pleasant thrill, especially that up close.

"No bra?" he wiggled his eyebrows.

"No bra," she confirmed.

"I kinda like that," he smirked triumphantly.

"You like everything that involves me and fewer clothes," she told him matter-of-factly.

"You're wrong. I like everything about you."

Most of the time she managed maintaining her tough chick facade and then he went around and said things like that. Things that were so unexpected and cute they almost made her tear up. It was uncanny how he managed to do that.

She could have kissed him now, instead of finally saying those inevitable words she had already said over the phone and texted him plenty of times, but had never told him face-to-face. But it was about time she finally got it out of her system. The only problem was that was kind of hard. It cost her a lot of courage to actually come out and say it. Because, honestly, how much more vulnerable could you make yourself to someone else than by saying those words? And how long had it been since she let someone this close to her?

She determinedly shoved those doubts and worries back where they belong: into her subconscious. "I love you," she said softly and felt her own heart quicken its pace just as soon as those words had left her mouth.

She could see the immediate impact of her words. The expression on his face changed. The mischievousness disappeared and was replaced by a real smile that made him look much younger than he actually was. What she saw in his eyes was joy and exuberance. At this point his 'I love you' had become redundant, because she had already learned everything she needed to know just by looking at him, but it was still good to actually hear those words. "I love you," he told her and she felt her heart skip a beat.

They kissed impatiently, smiling into their kiss like the idiots in love they were. But they had already tortured each other enough for one night and the amount of resulting sexual frustration was just as much as they could take, so they didn't let this go any further than just a kiss and eventually broke apart.

She snuggled up against his side. The idea of going to sleep in his arms was unusual and strange and yet it somehow felt familiar and just right. They were still lying on top of the comforter, but she didn't mind. Her fingers were tracing lazy patterns on his chest. After a while she let out a content sigh, at which he pulled her even closer and started stroking her hair. Her eyes drifted shut.

"Don't fall asleep yet. Stay with me just a little while longer," she opened her eyes to look directly into his bright blue ones. She smiled and touched his cheek; his face was hovering over hers. He was leaning over her and she quite liked the view.

"You've got quite the romantic streak, too," she said, her voice soft and languid and somewhat sleepy.

He touched his forehead to hers. When he exhaled, she felt his warm breath on her skin. It was nice being this close to him. She felt safe, at home, warm. Her eyes drifted shut again. She felt him lift her up a bit to drag the comforter out from underneath her and then something warm and soft was placed on top of her. A blanket. For a moment she was afraid she would be lying under the blanket alone, but then she was engulfed in his embrace again.

"Night, Steve," was all she managed to mumble before she drifted off to sleep. Some last sensory information managed to get through to her. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and his soft voice whispered something very close to her ear. "Oíche mhaith, a stór." Whatever that meant, it sounded just wonderful.


	17. Slow, As Slow As You Can Go

**Author's note**:

_ VoiceoftheVoiceless: Thank you, dear. No need to get angry with Timmy... The guy just needed his problem sorted out for him. _;-)

_You guys, I've moved up the rating to M. It seemed necessary _:)_ I have absolutely no idea why..._

_As always feedback is love, so FEED ME MORE FEEDBACK! _

* * *

Nina cracked open one of her eyes. For a moment her field of vision was dominated by the colors grey and white. She opened her other eye. Grey like his T-shirt and white like his pale skin. Out of furthest recesses of her mind some random literary reference popped up in her thoughts. Elizabethans would have loved him; after all they had waxed on endlessly about skin as white as snow for pages and pages.

She ran her hand over his arm, his fingers that rested on her belly twitched. He stirred and snuggled up to her. For someone who was a tough-ass wrestler he was rather cuddly. She would however take care not to say it to his face, because he sure wouldn't appreciate it. Speaking of faces...

She slightly turned her head to look at him. That up close she could see his skin was ever so slightly freckled. She supposed those freckles got more prominent the more time he spent in the sun.

They would have to dye his hair again rather soon. The aggressive bright red color had washed out somewhat by now. If she squinted, she could see that his roots were blondish, or rather strawberry-blonde. Another piece of puzzle fell into place and she smiled. She would have loved to see what he looked like without that obligatory dye job they made him go through every other week. That was probably why she had suggested he stop dying his hair when they first met. Maybe once he got a longer break from his job...

She was still curious about him. And though she already knew a fair share of things about him, her curiosity was never quite sated.

It was atypical for her to be able to just be lying there without doing anything and in fact this was already just about as much of it as she could stand of it. Time to get up. After a gentle fight with the rather cuddly Irish kraken, she managed to get out of bed and softly padded over to the living room. She was an early riser and she didn't want to wake him. He probably needed a bit of extra sleep what with his tight schedule and his constant traveling about. So she let him sleep and gently pulled the door closed behind her.

There were soft noises coming from the kitchen. Tim was already buttering about there. When she entered the kitchen, she found him munching on a bowl of cereal, bent over something he was reading. The scene was oddly familiar and took her a couple of years back into the past when they had last lived together under one roof.

He was yet to notice her, but when he did, a look of guilt briefly flashed over his face. Guilt? Now why was that? As she looked closer, it occurred to her that he wasn't reading just anything. He had obviously gone through her belongings last night and happened upon one of the things she felt most private and protective about: her short stories. In her free time, whenever she got the chance really, she sat down and wrote something that didn't have anything to do with work. It was liberating because she could pour all her crazy ideas onto paper. Paper didn't judge, but people did. Even her brother. She didn't feel ready to be showing these to anyone just yet.

"Tim!" she practically growled his name.

He jumped up from the kitchen stool. "I swear, Nina, I didn't mean to read this...," he started to explain.

"You didn't mean to? So how did you find it? It sure looks like you were reading it on purpose," she noticed the whole stack of her short stories resting on the kitchen counter next to him and quickly stuffed them under her arm.

"I was bored last night and I didn't feel like watching TV, so I started reading this," he held up the sheet he had been reading earlier and she unceremoniously snatched it from his hands. "Hey, why are you so angry? This is really good."

"Really good?" she repeated ill-humoredly. "Is the concept of privacy completely alien to you?" She looked at him in disbelief for a couple of seconds, waiting in vain for an apology. Nothing! All she got was a sheepish shrug. She shook her head and breezed out of the kitchen to deposit the stack of paper somewhere away from her brother's filthy hands and food, both equally large sources of danger to a possession that was most precious to her. She placed her short stories on the coffee table in the living room and quickly made her way back to the kitchen. She wasn't done berating Timmy.

As always when Nina and her brother met, they ended up arguing. It was like a law of nature. They got together, they squabbled, and they made peace. But getting to the last part of that sequence of events was usually rather difficult. Their mother had years of training in dealing with them and with her help their arguments were usually resolved in a matter of seconds. When she wasn't there, the mutual recriminations and insults just kept coming.

Nina's and Tim's rather heated discussion was briefly interrupted by a rather sleepy Irishman padding barefoot into the kitchen. The arguing siblings didn't give Stephen much pause; his family was loud and temperamental too. He just grabbed a bowl from one of the kitchen cupboards and reached for the milk carton and the cereal that Tim had left on the counter. He sat down on the stool Tim had occupied earlier and calmly started munching on his cereal.

The accusations Nina launched at her brother were growing more severe and Tim's remarks took a turn towards slightly insulting. "Moron!" "Bitch!" "Manwhore!" "Prude!" Stephen placed his bowl on the counter. It made a slight bell-like sound that was drowned out by the arguing voices. He stepped between Nina and her brother and placed a silencing hand on both of their mouths. The two Stewarts looked at him in surprise, unsure of what to make of his sudden intrusion in a routine that had been established over the course of years and years.

"Now you two, listen up! That's quite enough. Do you even remember what started this whole thing?" Nina nodded her head vigorously and Stephen decided to glare at her. A slightly sheepish look appeared on her face. "You're just arguing for arguing's sake now, so you better cut it out, 'cause it's starting to get on me nerves."

He gave them a stern look each before he continued. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take away me hands now. You," he looked at Tim, "are going to apologize to your sister for being disrespectful. And you," his eyes now landed on Nina, "you are going to stop eating his head off and just give him a fecking hug, understood?"

Both of them nodded in unison and Stephen removed his hands. After they had done as they had been told, he nodded in satisfaction, sat down and started eating his cereal again.

Nina picked up the milk carton and shook it. It was empty. She made a face. "And what do I eat for breakfast now?" she asked into the kitchen.

Tim decided it was time he got himself out of harm's way and slipped away to the bathroom. "Off to have a shower," he called out as he fled from the kitchen.

Stephen finished the last of his cereal with a smug grin. Nina just pouted and leaned against the counter next to his stool. "Stephen?" she looked at him batting her eyes like she was meaning serious business. He grinned. "Yes?"

"Darling...," she cooed and he started laughing.

"Oh, it's darling now? Interesting..." He stroked his beard as he looked at her. She was trying her best to be cute. He had never seen anyone try to do cute in a Nirvana T-shirt. Well, there was a first time for everything.

"Come on," she punched his upper arm. Now gentle violence, that was more her style.

"What?" He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. He'd be damned if he knew what was going through her head.

"Do you want me to starve?" she shot him a sour look.

He sighed. "Don't be such a baby. There's still cereal." He pushed the box, which irony upon irony happened to be Lucky Charms, in her direction. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Without milk? Really?"

It was beginning to dawn on him where this was headed. Oh, that woman! He had two options now. He could give her what she wanted, which he supposed entailed fixing her something to eat, or tease and flirt until she would eventually relent and take care of breakfast herself. Neither one of those solutions was really ideal. There had to be a third one.

"You're not gonna quit nagging until you get what you want, ey?" She grinned and nodded her head as an answer to his question.

He grabbed his bowl and carried it over to the sink. "You know us Irish folk, we react very sensitive to being exploited. We don't take too kindly to that sort a thing..."

Something brushed against his sides. He looked down and saw two arms encircle his midriff. She was rubbing her cheek against his back now. He raised his eyebrows. "Please, Steve!"

Stephen gently pulled her arms away from his midsection and turned around. He regarded her with an air of superiority as she threw him her best puppy dog expression. "'Please, Steve!' isn't going to cut it, lass. I'm immune to those sort a tricks. What else you got?" He made a challenging gesture with his hands.

The way she regarded him now with those big round eyes of hers, he was oddly reminded of that cat from Shrek. What was the wee little fella's name again? Puss in Boots? Whatever! That wasn't going to work. Oh, dear, now she was batting her eyes too. He was a goner.

He let out a contemptuous scoff. "All right, all right. But don't you think this will happen every time… Actually this is a once in a lifetime thing. I've got a reputation to uphold after all."

"What kind of reputation?" she asked innocently.

He gave her an incredulous look. "I swear sometimes you're driving me completely bonkers, lass. Don't the words Celtic Warrior mean anything at all to you? After all you're me writer… They should."

"Yeah, they do. But might I point out to you, Steve, that you're not in the ring now. You're on my turf," she said, calmly inspecting her nails. "And here you don't get any gold stars for being extra-super-manly."

"Her turf, she says!" he repeated, shaking his head. "No gold stars, she says! Lord, I must have completely lost me mind when I went for this one." He was trying to appear disgruntled, but the fact that he was also smiling told Nina that she was seconds away from getting her will.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked him, buffing her chest.

His expression softened. "Absolutely nothing, you're just an incredible pain in the arse sometimes."

"Well, that's like the pot calling the kettle black," she pointed out with a shit-eating grin.

"Ugh!" he let out a groan and actually pulled at his hair while she looked on with a triumphant smile on her face. "All right, all right, I get where this is headed. We're both stubborn as mules, so we can have at this till noon, but since I'm clearly the smarter one of us," her eyes sparkled at him dangerously there, which he ignored with a smug smile on his face, "I'm going to be gracious about this and call it a draw for now…"

"State your conditions," she said simply.

"Conditions?" he asked.

"Well, this is a ceasefire, so you might as well state your conditions…," she suggested.

"Simple. You," his index finger came to rest slightly underneath her collar bone, "are going to make us coffee while I'll fix you something to eat."

"All right," she grinned. Coffee was easy. She had expected something far trickier and nastier.

When Tim came back, he found them sitting inside the kitchen in deceptive peace and harmony. Nina was munching on a plate of scrambled eggs and Stephen was watching her with a smile on his face, occasionally sipping from his cup of coffee.

"Man, you behave like an old married couple," Tim joked.

"Oh," Nina grinned brightly, "didn't I tell you? We are. We got hitched in Vegas last month."

Her brother went pale in the face and Stephen started laughing, although he scorched his mouth on his next sip of coffee.

"Gotcha!" Nina grinned at Tim, pointing her fork at him. "After what you told us last night it was time you tasted a bit of your own medicine. Speaking of last night... Have you already talked to Sandra?"

"Yes," Tim nodded dutifully. "She says to come over to talk."

"That's great!" Nina smiled in approval. "When are we going to head there?"

"Right after you've hit the shower," Tim suggested. "You wanna come too, Steve?"

"Thanks, but I don't think I'll be of much use," the Irishman shrugged his shoulders.

Tim raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I'm not even sure I want to go over there. I get it."

* * *

Nina was smiling to herself as she drove home. This had all gone rather well. Sandra had eventually, after Tim had been practically begging on his knees for half an hour, opened up the door to him. Another hour or so later Tim had called her on his cell phone to let her know everything was alright. By that time she had already left her car and bought herself another coffee at a nearby coffee shop.

The empty paper cup was still sitting in the cup holder and later, when she got out of her car, she threw it in the trash. In record time she made it up to her apartment door and after fiddling with her keys for a second or two, she stepped inside the apartment. "I'm back!" she called down the hall. No response. She took off her shoes and padded towards the living room. No one there either.

She sneaked closer to the bathroom and stopped outside the door. Through the thin wood she could hear the water running and Stephen's deep voice belting out a song. For a second she was tempted to go in there. He probably wouldn't have minded, in fact she'd even go as far as saying he'd love the idea, but she didn't feel quite brave enough for that yet. They had come as far as stripping each other down to their underwear, but full-on nudity was a whole different territory, at least to her. She needed to ease herself into certain situations before she felt comfortable with them and she wouldn't be comfortable with barging into the bathroom now.

"I'm back!" she repeated again and the singing was briefly interrupted.

"Well, come on in!" he called out to her.

She laughed. "I'm not sure I'm quite ready yet for the whole package..."

There was an answering chuckle for the other side of the door and she decided to go as he passionately launched himself into his own personal rendition of the "Irish Rover".

Back in the living room, she sat down on the couch and started reaching for the remote control. She froze mid-movement. The manuscript of her short stories had been neatly divided up into two stacks. She eyed those stacks curiously. Someone had read her first two stories and was right in the middle of her third one. Someone? There was no need to be coy about it, that certain someone was Stephen.

A sudden surge of anger propelled her out of her seat and towards the bathroom. She ripped open the door, thanks to her wrath totally uncaring whether he was fully clothed or not. His head shot up in surprise. He had just wrapped the towel around his hips, but there were still some droplets of water running down his torso. Plenty of women would have probably given their left arm to see him like that, Nina, however, didn't even register his current state of undress, all she wanted to do was rip him a new one for reading her stories.

"I can't believe you did that!" She was barely able to contain herself. He had never seen her quite that angry. Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving.

"Did what?" he asked finally, after having stared at her for a moment without knowing what to make of this situation or her behavior.

"You've read my stories. Didn't it occur to you that you were maybe not supposed to? Yes, they were lying on the coffee table, but that wasn't an invitation to read them..." Her tone was shrill and her voice was echoing from the tiled walls of the bathroom. Nina took another step closer to him. Perhaps she wanted to make sure his eardrums would explode when she would next start screeching. She wasn't aware of it, but she was getting up in his face and he didn't particularly like that. Years of self-defense training tended to kick in when people did that and it made him tense up automatically. It was hard to tell your body to stay calm when all his reflexes tell you to do the exact opposite, so at this point it was pretty clear to him that he was fighting a losing battle.

"I'm sorry, if I had known you'd be this pissed off..." he tried again, hoping that she would finally calm down.

He didn't get to finish the sentence. She interrupted him. "Well, your stupid sorry doesn't cut it!"

"What's your problem? Those stories are brilliant. People should read them," his voice was starting to increase in volume. A flush was creeping up his neck. Not very much longer...

"_People_," she stressed the word in a way that made clear she didn't mean people, she actually meant him, "should have waited. Because that was way too personal. You should have asked for my permission first."

Now he was losing his patience with her. He was irritable. Always had been. If she went back to Cabra, his hometown in Ireland, and asked the folks there about him, they would say something like "Farrelly? That fella sure has a temper." So it wasn't smart provoking him.

"I should have asked for your permission?! Well, how the bleedin' hells should I have known that you were so touchy about that stuff?!" He took a step closer as well and glared at her. His breathing had quickened too.

A single water droplet ran down his chest and drew her attention to his rising and falling pectoral muscles. From there her eyes wandered lower, over his abs to the edge of that towel slung around his hips.

She could feel her anger changing into something else. She remembered last night: how he had kissed her and how those kisses had felt against her skin. Yesterday they had played with the fire and come away with slightly singed fingers. It had been exciting and she wanted more. And now they were alone. No one would stop them and spoil things. If she took just one more step closer, she could get this started. Just one tiny step. Do it! You know you want to...

Those thoughts pushed her forward and encouraged her to claim his mouth with hers. A second passed without him responding in any way. She was momentarily worried he would break the kiss and shove her away. To her surprise that didn't happen. Quite the opposite actually. He poured all his anger and frustration into the kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed him in. His kiss robbed her of the last shreds of her sanity and whatever shyness that had still held her back. His body was pressing her into the bathroom door. His mouth was on her neck, his fingers pulled down the neckline of her T-shirt while he nipped at her shoulder with his teeth. She made a sound she had never heard herself make. Somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

This moment was the catalyst of weeks of sexual frustration. Their eyes met briefly and she saw something in his that made her self-control immediately evaporate. Something wild and primal.

She didn't think anymore, she let her body take control. Her hands wandered down his back and came to rest on his buttocks. In the state she was in she hadn't thought the move through. It encouraged him to move his pelvis closer to hers. Soon she felt proof that he found this just as exciting as she did. She couldn't help herself and slightly arched her body into his. Both of them sighed. No wonder the thought that this would be so much better if she weren't still clothed forced itself on her now.

She hooked her leg around his hips. Under normal circumstances and with a clear head, she would have thought that to be slutty move. She would have felt ashamed of herself and vowed to better herself, but right now she didn't give a damn about propriety. It was understandable, wasn't it? They had been dancing this dance for weeks now. Well, no more of this. She wanted him and he seemed to share that sentiment, because she felt him position his right hand under the hollow of her knee to keep that leg in place. The other one was cupping one of her breasts. His mouth was on her throat again. Its kiss made her think of lying down, of ripping off that damn towel, of how hard the tiled floor would be and also, that if the universe finally allowed them to go through with this, it would be worth any discomfort she would feel afterwards thanks to lying down on those cold stone tiles.

"So should I stop? That too personal for you, too, luv?" His teasing, but somewhat breathy voice and the sudden loss of contact had her look at him. His hands were left and right of her head while the rest of their bodies were pressed up against each other. The sound of his voice and the suggestive undertone in it, made her instinctively arch into him.

"Not personal enough," she said. Her voice was low and sultry. She didn't even know it could sound like this.

Upon hearing her words and feeling her body move against his, his eyes fluttered shut and there was an expression on his face that was halfway between torture and bliss. "If your brother comes back to interrupt this again, I'm not going to be held accountable for me actions…"

"No, I won't open that door again. Not for anyone," she said, leaning forward to kiss his chest. His collarbone was just at the height of her nose. She opened her mouth and let her teeth graze a little over it. She felt goose bumps rise underneath her lips and continued a bit lower, as if trailing down an invisible line, perhaps the one that single droplet of water had taken before.

Underneath her lips his skin was warm and flushed and tasted salty. His quick breath fanned against her cheek. "I want you. And I'm past caring whether it happens right here on the floor or anywhere else," she said softly, pressing yet another kiss to his chest.

"On the bathroom floor?" God, his voice sounded sexy when it was that breathy. "That doesn't seem the right kind a place for the first time we do this…"

He stepped away from the door, took her hand in his and gently tugged her towards him. They shared a long and heated look before they set into motion. They quickly made their way over to her bedroom. It was almost mad dash. There was definitely a little running involved. They were hopeless, pathetic, horny and finally inside the bedroom.

She closed the distance between them and stepped into his embrace again. It wasn't one of the innocent variety, it was all roaming hands, a bit of groping, kisses and moans. Eventually he tugged off her shirt in the process. They started kissing in a way that made it difficult for her to form coherent thoughts; the only one remaining was the wish to get rid of that stupid terry cloth towel around his hips. She started pulling at it and he chuckled against her lips as it came undone and fell to their feet.

"A little impatient, are we? So no foreplay then? Right on to the main course," he said and she gulped, trying hard not to think about the fact that he was now completely naked and what part of his anatomy was currently pressed up against her.

"Foreplay? Seriously? We've had weeks and weeks of foreplay," she pointed out, not feeling quite as courageous as she sounded. She was blushing ever so slightly. The reality of what was going to happen now was starting to hit her. After having fantasized about this for so long, it was only natural she had a slight case of the jitters.

"True," he cocked his head and grinned. "What's that? Are you blushing? Are you getting shy on me now? Perhaps I'm imaging things. Cause that would be sort a ironic, lass, considering that I'm the one without any clothes on… Maybe I should take a step back, so you got a chance to get a nice eyeful," he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, but despite his teasing words he didn't move. Apparently that was his way of being gentlemanly.

She hesitated and in that moment of hesitance she felt his hands stroke her back reassuringly. "Not shy. You just need to get my stupid mind to shut up," she said quietly. "I've just got some trouble letting myself fall."

He frowned. "Are you sure you really want this?"

He wasn't going to do something stupid like breaking this off right now, was he? She placed her hands left and right of his face. "Am I sure? Please! Stephen, ever seen those little dogs that try to dry hump peoples' legs? I'm seconds away from that level of patheticness. That's how much I want this."

He grinned. Apparently she had managed to boost his male ego somewhat. "So you need me to do something to shut up that nagging little voice inside your noggin?" he asked. She nodded slowly. The way he was smiling, reassured her of the fact that instead of being repelled by the thought, like she had feared, he was actually fascinated by it. Maybe he even saw it as some sort of challenge.

Most people would have made the mistake of saying that Stephen Farrelly was a man who didn't do subtle. With his bluntness and his ever teasing sort of character he didn't seem to possess a predisposition for being sensitive to anyone's needs. Despite that he had managed to pick up on the fact that the woman in front of him was a bit more complicated than she let on. Going in for the kill straight away would get him nowhere here.

He pulled her close against his body. One of his hands was resting between her shoulder blades, while the other one was tracing up and down the length of her vertebrae. His fingertips were barely ghosting over her sensitive skin and despite that he felt her shiver against him. He turned his head, so his mouth was right next to her ear. His breath tickled her ear and her neck and as he felt her fingers curl into his shoulders, he smiled in satisfaction. "Tell that stupid head of yours to shut up now, 'cause it's getting in the way of me plans for you and I…"

"What sort of plans?" her voice had taken on a different quality. It was low and sultry and there was a little sexy quiver at the end of that sentence. If he hadn't wanted her like crazy before, now that voice of hers at taken things up a notch. He turned his head to look at her. His eyes met hers.

For once he had trouble channeling that witty side of his, so he simply dropped all pretenses and just said what popped in his head first. "I've been thinking about this for weeks now. What it might feel like, your skin against mine, nothing between us for once. I want to know what it's like when you let go of that tight control you have over yourself, 'cause I know that what lies underneath there is like a force of nature. Red hot energy..." When he was done talking, he kissed the spot on her neck, right underneath her ear. The caress was like a full-stop to that sentence or rather an exclamation mark, because it felt that intense. His beard tickled her skin she squirmed against him. Apparently his words had not left her unaffected. He was yet to find out that that was in fact the understatement of the century. He had actually managed to do no less than that what she had demanded of him. He was beginning to get an inkling of that, though, when she forcefully pulled his head away from her neck and planted a hard and demanding kiss on his lips that nearly took his breath away.

They tumbled down on her bed, their bodies locked in a passionate embrace. For a while there her enthusiasm managed to infect him. They got lost in kisses and touches, but eventually, very eventually his mind resurfaced from the hormone induced vacation it had taken. They could let this take its natural course and it would be over in a few minutes, because let's face it, at the pace they were going and after all those weeks of involuntary sexual frustration, they were of course talking minutes OR they could make this memorable in another way. A good way.

When she had taken off her jeans and crawled back into bed with him, he took the opportunity to tell her what was going on inside his head. Not in so many words, of course. He merely said: "Slow down."

"Why?" she answered, already peppering his chest with kisses again that made him feel like the important thought he was holding was slipping through his fingers.

He grasped her wrists and pinned her to the mattress. The move was supposed to buy him some time in order to be able to form a coherent sentence. "'Cause if we keep at it like that, it's going to be over too fecking soon."

He watched her eyes fall on his hands enclosing her wrists. She licked her lips. Huh? Did she like that? The realization let a small smile appear on his lips and he filed that information away for later use.

"All right," she said softly.

Determined to work their current position in his favor, Stephen traced his fingers over her shoulders. He hooked his index fingers underneath the straps of her bra and gently pulled them down. The straps left two weak imprints in their wake and he leaned in to kiss them better.

"That ol' thing's clearly not doing you any good. We'd better take it off," he told her.

She chuckled at his comment and he silenced her laughter with a kiss during which he pulled her into a half sitting position that allowed him to deftly unhook her bra. He grasped it and threw it away with a gesture of mock disdain.

"There, all better now," he told her as he gently, almost reverently, laid her down on the mattress, his eyes roaming over her naked upper body.

"Stop talking," she admonished him softly, letting her gaze trail down his naked body as well.

"What if I feel like talking now?" he said, rolling his hips against hers. His teasing move backfired on him. The only piece of fabric still separating them was her slip. And it wasn't like that was much of an obstacle in the way. It gave both of them a rather realistic foretaste of what was to come next and apparently they had thoroughly underestimated that. He heard her suck in her breath, felt her body underneath his shiver. His own fingers dug into the mattress and his eyes drifted shut.

Her strained voice brought him back from that brief moment of teetering along the edge. "You feel like talking? What about? Politics, literature, philosophy?" She teased in a breathy voice as she placed her hands on his naked buttocks and squeezed, pulling him closer against her again. A breath whooshed from his lips. She took in the flush that was spreading all the way from his face to his chest with a certain satisfaction and pride, knowing that it was her doing.

He opened his eyes again. They were the brightest blue now. Perhaps thanks to the lighting or maybe it they changed color when he was turned on; anyway she was mesmerized by them. "How about we talk about how I'm going to have you completely naked in a couple of seconds?"

She liked his way of thinking. She pulled him down to her and kissed him again. True to his promise, her slip was gone in a matter of seconds.

His mouth was on her body, showering it with hot and wet kisses and she quickly learned that she liked the way his beard brushed against the insides of her thighs. She learned that the most sensitive place, apart from the more obvious ones, was his neck. She learned that it was a massive turn-on to her when he moaned and also that he was not only a tease outside the bedroom but inside it as well.

Each caress, each kiss brought them closer to the point of no return and she was ready for it. About as ready as she would ever be. They managed to quench their own eagerness and impulsiveness for one last rational thought. Protection. But after that was taking care of, there was no more holding back.

She was shocked how good it felt being this close to him. The first seconds they spent, unmoving, looking at each other in wonder. It had been a long time for her and this felt so different than she remembered. This was very intense. He started moving experimentally, just a tiny fraction. She moved with him. She gasped and her eyes drifted shut. Her overactive mind switched off for a second as all the neurons in her body started wiring one single message to her brain. Pleasure, sensory overload, arousal, sex. Her whole body shuddered.

"You okay?" he asked, which she found cute.

"Yes, very okay," she smiled. "Now let's work on making us both more than okay," she breathed, barely able to get a straight sentence out. He bent down to kiss her with a smile of his own on his face.

He moved slowly and it was torture - the sweetest kind of torture. Her body reacted to each of his movements and she felt a familiar tension building up inside of her. What wasn't so familiar about it though was its intensity. She blamed it on those seemingly endless weeks of sexual tension that now finally came to be resolved.

Finally his movements grew more self-assertive, while her breathing, in turn, grew faster. She decided she needed something to hold on to. She tried holding on to him, but it wasn't enough. She was falling. It happened much more quickly than she was used to.

Pleasure rolled over her in waves and each wave carried her higher and higher. She felt her whole body grow taut. She was like a bowstring waiting to be released. His body moved over her and she met him stride for stride. Unlike when this had first started out, they were in complete sync now. There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his chest. His fingers dug a little into her hips as he tilted them up a little. Their eyes met. It calmed her, let her feel the emotional connection between them in addition to the physical one they were now sharing. Her hand cupped his cheek; he closed his eyes and exhaled a long deep breath as if he was trying to mobilize his last remains of his self-control to be able to hold on just a fraction longer. She felt another wave of pleasure roll over her. "Let it go, let it go, let it go," she whispered incoherently.

"Let it go" - such simple words. She herself could no longer postpone the moment, so she gave in and stopped resisting. She was unprepared for when it happened, for what it would feel like and how her body would react to it. Her toes curled up, her whole body arched upwards; she pulled him closer, holding onto him like she was drowning. She heard him breathing hard. She heard herself moan. She arched into him again, feeling greedy, always wanting more. And he made sure to give her that. For a moment all her senses were on overload. For that one single moment everything faded into the background except him and her and how this felt.

Their movements eventually grew less frantic and slowed down. His kisses turned from passionate to tender. She still held on to him even after it was over, tracing lazy patterns on his back. His head was resting in the crook of her neck and his hot breaths were puffing against her skin, growing slower gradually until they reached a normal pace.

He hoisted himself up on his arms and she smirked at him and the adorable expression on his face that was somewhere between drowsy and completely blissful. "Hey, you!" she told him affectionately, her hand cupping his cheek. "I love you," she added in an afterthought.

"I love you…," he told her and chastely kissed her lips. "You little tease." The grin on his face told her everything she needed to know. It was filled with adoration. She gave him a gentle slap on the cheek; actually she merely touched her hand to it.

"I may be a tease, but at least I deliver right?" The question became a little shaky towards the end as he rolled off of her. Her facial expression turned into a pout because of the sudden loss of contact. He pulled her into his arms.

"Oh, yeah! Big time, a chroí."

"Steve?" she turned and shot him a funny look, her head propped up on her left elbow.

"You really want to talk to me now?" he said, cracking one eye open to look at her. "Just so you know, you've just shagged half me brains out, luv."

She looked at him momentarily with her mouth hanging open. Had he really just said something that crude? Judging by the smile on his face, she guessed he had. "So you want me to shut up now?" she actually sudden a bit disapproving.

"Yes, but I also want you to come here," he held out his arm to her, inviting her to snuggle up to him, "Just relax, enjoy this feeling..."

"Fall asleep?" she supplied.

"No," he said. With a frustrated huff he laid his arms around her midriff and pulled her closer to him. She made a bit of a fuss but eventually complied.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Now we both shut our gobs," he suggested.

"What you're trying to do is cute, but senseless. I'm not one of those girls who say stupid stuff like "hold me", 'cause I don't usually feel like being held. Not even one hell of an orgasm will change that..." she scoffed.

"Don't knock it, till you've tried it." His right arm wrapped around her body and pulled her against him. She felt his muscular chest against her back and the reassuring warmth his body radiated. Her eyes drifted shut slowly and a sigh escaped her lips. Then again, maybe she could become one of those girls who said stuff like "hold me".

"See, not that bad after all," his mouth was directly next to her ear. Instead of an answer, she placed her arm over his.

True to his earlier words, he did not fall asleep. She could tell because from time to time he would kiss her shoulder or move his fingers to stroke her skin. And for the first time in a very long time she relaxed and did absolutely nothing apart from lying there.

After a while, however, her thoughts started to drift here and there, they grazed the surface of many ideas and issues and eventually returned to the question that had originally occupied her thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually.

"If you must," by now she was well able to tell from only the tone of his voice whether he was teasing her of not. This was teasing.

"You know how I love it when you speak Gaelic...," she continued.

"Well, actually I don't, you've never told me."

"Okay, I do. This is me telling you now that I love it...," she grinned.

"Brilliant," he smiled. "So far so good."

"It's lovely and all, but I have no idea what you're saying. Could be anything from 'you daft old cow' to 'my darling'," she pointed out.

"Maybe it is..." The mischievous tone had returned to his voice. She sighed. Why did she put up with him again? Right, it was probably because she loved him.

"Well, do you speak French?" she asked.

She felt him shake his head. "Apart from the few swear words I've picked up on the road, no."

"I do," she told him smugly.

He let go of her and leaned over her to look at her face. "What's your point, lass?" his eyes narrowed, but she knew it was only for show. He was still lying next to her after all.

"My point is, I want a translation and pronto!"

He rolled on his back and pulled her on top of him. She was now sprawled out on his chest and there was nothing between them, not a wisp of fabric. Things couldn't get any more personal than that.

"A stór means 'my treasure', whereas a chroí means 'my heart'," he told her softly.

"You're awfully nice to me in languages I don't speak," she grinned.

"Yeah, only so you can't call me a big softie anymore."

She raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't call you a big softie and particularly not now if you get my drift." Her eyes looked down pointedly. "Where's all that energy coming from anyway? Aren't men supposed to be past their sexual prime once they reach 30?"

He laughed. "Past their sexual prime? Oh, you really are something else! What about women?"

"Once we get past 30 we actually flourish in that department, which is ironic, considering how gravity also becomes our enemy."

"Haven't seen any bingo wings on you yet, love," he pinched the back of her left upper arm to make his point.

"What do you call them? Bingo wings?" she chuckled and buried her head in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. As her laughter subsided, she noticed how her own amusement was replaced by arousal. She started kissing his chest and his neck. His arms released her. He looked more surprised than he rightfully should, considering that she could feel rather solid proof that he was ready for another go as well pressing up against her belly.

"How about a rematch?" she teased him. "And I'm not talking about one that lasts only 18 seconds."

"Ha! Cute."

"Yeah, thought so, too," she smiled.

"No, not 18 seconds. What I had in mind for you was a bit of exquisite torture and followed by several minutes of positive delight," he said, starting to trace his hands along her curves.

"That was rather poetic, babe. I thought it was called 'shagging' on the other side of the pond."

He laughed at her crude remark and pressed a lingering kiss to her neck. "No, I think I prefer calling it making love to you from now on."

For once she refrained from making a sarcastic comment and placed her hands left and right of his face before she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "Fine by me..." She whispered to him when she pulled away.


	18. A Storm Is Coming

Judging by the light that fell into the room it had to be afternoon. They were lying sprawled out on her bed, just dozing. The blanket was covering them; the vital parts anyway, because Nina's legs had worked their way out of the blanket. Her head was resting on the crook of Stephen's arm. It was comfortable - more comfortable than her pillow at any rate.

It was time they started moving, time to take a shower, time to eat something. Oh hell! She just didn't care. When she thought back on the last couple of years, she couldn't pinpoint one single moment she had been more content, more relaxed, or more at ease with the world and her existence in general.

That thought made her drift closer to him. She placed her hand on his chest. It came to rest directly over his heart. His hand found hers and he started playing with her fingers, stroking them, interlacing them with his, kissing them.

"Let's tell the rest of the world to go feck itself and stay like this forever," he told her. His voice sounded just as mellow and relaxed as she felt. It was rougher than usual and there was a slight scratch in it. She rolled over and rested her chin on his chest, looking at him and his sleepy face with adoration shining in her eyes.

"So you think this is as good as it gets?"

His eyebrows shot up at her question. There was a look of genuine puzzlement on his face. "Isn't it?"

"What if what comes next is better? After all this is only the beginning," she told him sitting up. She hugged the cover to her chest and climbed over him. Her retreat was sort of clumsy and wobbly, but nevertheless managed to immediately claim his attention.

"Hey!" he called after her in indignation, but only indignation of the mild variety, because he got to see her backside as she slowly walked up to the door and left him lying there without a blanket and completely naked. At the door she let the blanket slip to the floor and threw him a look over her shoulder. "You coming? I was going to take a shower." With those words she exited the bedroom.

She was waiting for him in front of the shower cubicle. She didn't have to wait long. He soon entered the bathroom. His eyes roamed over her naked body. Though he had had time to study it up close and get acquainted with it over the last couple of hours, it never failed to attract his attention. However, right now he was in no mood to drag her under the shower spray and perform half the positions from the Kama Sutra with her. He just wanted to enjoy this moment and be close to her.

"After you, me lady," he said with a grin and she climbed into the shower. He followed, pulling the door shut behind them. The small enclosed space of the glass cubicle didn't leave them any other choice but to get close. She smiled as she reached around him to turn on the shower. The first cold droplets of water rained down on them. Both of them yelped. Well, hers was high-pitched one, whereas his was a more like a manly 'aaaaah'-like sound.

"Sorry, the pipes are kind of old," she smiled sheepishly as the water gradually grew warmer and finally reached a pleasant temperature.

Thanks to the water his hair was now plastered to his forehead. He was squinting his eyes shut in order not to get any water in them. "You look really goofy," she told him and brushed his hair back from his forehead and somehow from there they ended up sharing a long kiss that was tender and very thorough. His arms were slung around her neck and the water was dripping down on them. It felt more pleasant than anything she had experienced in a long time.

She noticed how his mood had changed now. When he pulled back to look at her, his arms were still slung around her shoulders, there was a look of sincerity in his eyes and a vulnerability she had not seen before. They had somehow made it past jokes, façades and appearances. Who knew it would have taken that long for him to let his guard down? How could she have never been aware it had been up in the first place? She smiled at him tenderly, almost shyly and he reciprocated that smile. It was a cliché saying something about warm feeling inside of her chest and the sensation of melting, but she did feel like that right then and there.

Nina reached for her shower-gel and squeezed some of it unto her palm. "Mint scented," she explained and waited for his nod of approval, before she gently maneuvered him out from underneath the shower spray and started lathering up his chest and arms with it. There was so much kindness and caring to her touch it almost took his breath away. His eyes were on her as the droplets cascaded on her head and made her body glisten. He slicked back her hair, just like she had done for him. As a thanks she motioned him to turn around to lather up his back with the shower-gel as well. The muscles in it started to relax as her fingers trailed down over his skin, applying gentle pressure. It almost felt like a massage. He let out a sound of contentment.

She continued until his whole body was soapy and then she pulled him against herself with a smile. It was a tight, full-on body hug and that way she got the shower-gel all over herself too. They stepped back under the spray and waited until the water had washed all of it away. In fact they even waited a little longer.

She wanted to reach for the shampoo, but he beat her to it. He switched off the shower for a moment and the constant backdrop noise of the falling water disappeared. She could hear him breathe; hear the water drip off both of their bodies.

He started to gently massage the shampoo into her hair and her eyes drifted shut. Those fingers of his were truly magical. He had not lied back when when he claimed they were nimble. She felt the last remains of stress fall away and concentrated entirely on the sensation of those fingertips moving over her scalp in soothing circles.

"Tilt your head back and keep your eyes closed," he told her and shortly after she felt the spray of the shower on her skin again. His fingers stroked over her hair to get the shampoo out and when he was finally satisfied, he told her to open her eyes again. She did and found him standing directly in front of her.

"You have no idea how good that just felt," she smiled up at him.

The corner of his eyes crinkled in delight. "Really?"

"Really," she confirmed and kissed him. "Let me return the favor. I promise the shampoo doesn't smell like coconut."

He laughed. "That's a relief."

She again she pushed him back a bit, until he wasn't standing underneath the shower spray anymore. The shampoo bottle let out a protesting squeak as she squeezed it. They both laughed. He lowered his head obediently, so she could apply the shampoo without having to stretch or stand on tiptoes. Thanks to the red hair dye, the foam of the shampoo soon turned a girlish pink. She grinned but didn't say anything.

She wanted him to relax so she took care to be especially gentle with him. Apparently she succeeded because he let out a hum of contentment when she massaged his scalp. As she later rinsed the shampoo out, she placed herself behind him, running her fingers from his temples to the back of his head. She continued to do so even long after the shampoo was gone, because, judging by those little sounds of approval he made from time to time, he enjoyed it a lot. When they were done, he turned around and engulfed her in a tight hug that almost took her breath away. He brushed his wet nose against her and she looked in his eyes.

For some reason he looked happy, but also a bit tired. Not physically tired, but tired as though he was worn out by traveling, by smiling at cameras, by life in general. It had never occurred to her that he could be, because he was always so energetic. He joked, he teased, he seemed like he possessed an endless supply of energy. Why had she never noticed before? Had she been too blind or distracted to see it? Or was it simply that he was too good at hiding his emotions behind a professional facade to have her notice? It had to be the latter. She hoped it was. Because if it wasn't like that, it meant she was an insensitive, egotistical cow.

They stepped out of the shower cubicle and dried themselves off. She wrapped the towel around herself and so did he. Back to square one. It had all started with him wearing a towel around his hips. Apparently he had similar thoughts. "Listen, about earlier. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have read..."

She silenced him mid-sentence by placing her index finger over his lips. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't your fault. And I shouldn't have made such a big deal out of it. You can read my stories. Actually, I want you to read them."

His fingers wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her hand away. "Really? What changed your mind."

She gave him a long look. "You."

"Me? Such a corny thing to say," he chuckled. "But I gotta admit it's quite flattering. But the explanation seems a bit too simple."

"No, it isn't. I want you to know me. The real me. You know how words can sometimes be inadequate and how they don't come out right? Language is such a stupid thing. I often have the feeling that what leaves my mouth is a bunch of rubbish. It is an inadequate echo of my thoughts. When I write, I feel like I do on occasion get it right."

"So that's why you were so pissed off before…," he amended, looking truly rueful.

"Yeah, but I was being stupid. I really shouldn't have gotten in such a hissy fit about it," she smiled at him. He smiled back and she couldn't help but hug him.

She stroked his back, letting her fingers trace down his spine and she felt him relax against her. "Steve?" she whispered into his ear. "Are you okay?" Perhaps she was reading too much into something as trivial as a look on his face. Who knew whether she had read him correctly?

"Of course, I am. Right as rain. Had fantastic sex, got to shower with a beautiful lass… Life's good," he answered, his voice all drowsy and relaxed.

"I'm not talking about right now. I'm talking about in general."

He pulled back a fraction to look into her eyes. A moment passed, then another. "Just a bit tired, I guess," he finally admitted.

She nodded. "I've never really told you why I quit my job as a lecturer, have I?"

"No," he said, startled by her sudden change of subject. They were now standing in front of each other. He was leaning back against the wash basin, his hands on her hips. His eyes were level with hers as he regarded her, waiting for her to start talking.

For a second holding his gaze was almost too much. Her eyes drifted to the floor, then back at him. She had trouble acknowledging her weaknesses. It had always been like that. It was her Achilles Heel. "Burnout," she said finally. It was a one word admittance, but judging by the way his eyes widened he got the meaning and the gravity of that single world.

He wanted to say something, but she shook her head. "Not now," she said gently. "We'll get there."

"What the feck?" he looked at her with a frown. "You drop a bomb like that on me and then you go and say something like 'We'll get there'?"

"'Cause I don't want to talk about it now, okay?" Her 'okay' at the end of that sentence warned him to leave well enough alone. If he continued to try to get anything out of her now, she would only close up and act her usual stubborn self.

"I'm just surprised, is all. What do you want me to say? Shrug me shoulders and say 'Oh, well'? I care about you…," he thought for a second, realizing that the words 'I care about you' were not strong enough. "Scratch that! I love you, so if you decide to tell me you had burnout, it strikes me as a natural reaction that I want answers."

"Yeah, only not now," she repeated again. "I can't. I'm not ready."

She saw a muscle in his jaw work; saw how he was trying hard to reign in his temper and that impatient streak of his. "Alright," he said finally. And then a slightly softer spoken "okay" followed which was accompanied by a begrudging, but tender kiss to her cheek. "We'll get there." There was a pause and it was growing longer and longer, until he eventually decided to fill it with words. "So what are we going to do now?"

She smiled and it was a radiant smile. One that lit up the entire room. One that had him wondering how a woman like her could ever be anything other than happy. It seemed hard to believe there had been a phase in her life where she had been as well-adjusted and down-to-earth as she was now.

"Glad, you've asked," she grinned at him. "We're going to refuel those energy reserves, handsome."

"With what? More sex?" he joked.

Her face assumed an almost comic expression. It was a mixture of embarrassment and an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but that will have to wait for a while."

"Sore?" for once he was the blunt one of the two of them.

"Well, yeah," she lowered her gaze for a second. "It's been a while. Perhaps doing it twice in a row was not the smartest move in retrospect. And before you say anything, it's not your fault. It's mine. I was perhaps a little overeager."

"It's been a while? How long exactly?"

"That's what you've picked up on?" she gave his chest a gentle swat with the back of her hand. With a mock disapproving head shake she stepped away from him. "Really, Stephen..." He watched her exit the bathroom with an amused grin on his face.

"Come on, how long?" he called after her.

Eventually she popped her head back into the bathroom. She gave him a long appraising look before she spoke again. "I swear if you laugh or make a mocking comment, I'm going to throw your half-naked ass out of my apartment quicker than you can say the words 'I'm sorry'."

He made an appeasing gesture with his hands. Still she hesitated.

"Two years," she said finally.

"What…?!" he started. A dark glance from her silenced him immediately, but it wasn't enough to erase that smug grin from his face.

"Stop grinning, eejit," she reprimanded him.

"Hmmmm, the lady is finally picking up on some Irish. Great. Had to be the insults you mastered first, right?" he teased her.

"Well, the useful things first."

"Course. As much as I love trading insults with you, darlin', I'm going to shave now," he told her.

"Yeah?" she asked, throwing him the sweetest of smiles. "Word of advice: While you're at it, shave of the whole damn thing. You gave me a beard burn," she indicated the red rash on her chin with a reproachful expression on her face.

"You didn't seem to mind earlier. Maybe that's not the only place. You should check lower as well," he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

A blush spread on her nose. "You're rude."

"And ginger," he added.

"Oh my God! Have you or have you not just quoted Doctor Who? Forget everything I said. You're forgiven. I totally love you," she beamed at him. Part of her statement was of course to be taken with a pinch of salt, because of all that irony dripping from her words.

"If that's all it takes...," he told her with a grin.

"Actually it takes quite a lot," she told him, now leaning against the door frame. It was a quite suggestive pose because she was only clad in a towel and the way she was standing there accentuated her curves. He tried ignoring it since sex was off the menu for now.

"Is that why you lapsed into celibacy for two years?" He grinned.

"Let me put this in words you're going to understand. 'Feck off'," she told him with a sweet smile before she exited the bathroom once more.

"I'm going to order in. Chinese okay?" she called out to him from the hallway.

"Fried duck with plum sauce, if they have it," he called back.

She had just gotten off the phone when he came out of the bedroom. He had put on some jeans and a T-shirt whereas she had opted for a tank top and some sweatpants.

"Dinner should be here in 40 minutes. They are kind of busy right now," she told him. She pensively tapped the phone against her chin. "Just enough time…"

"Enough time for what?" The grin on her face made him suspicious, because most of the time it meant nothing good.

"Take off your shirt and stretch out on the couch with your back facing up," she told him.

"What?!"

"Don't play coy with me now, Farrelly," she shot him teasing glance. "There's nothing I haven't seen yet, especially not after the last couple of hours." She let her eyes purposefully roam up and down his body.

"Okaaay," he said slowly, taking off the T-shirt despite of his skepticism.

"And now stretch out on the sofa. Come on! Shoo!"

"Have you just shooed me?" He looked at her as if he didn't believe his ears. Nina rolled her eyes and bodily pushed him in the direction of the couch. He let himself be pushed and even made as if he was stumbling. She didn't seem to believe that she was able to shove around a roughly 260-pound-man and glared at him. He just shrugged and stretched out on the couch.

She breezed out of the room and was back in the blink of an eye. He felt her pass him when a whoosh of air hit his arm. Seconds later someone straddled his hips and started massaging his back.

Her fingers were oily and her grasp strong and self-assertive. It didn't seem like she was doing this for the first time. A brief flash of possessiveness and jealousy swept over him, but he didn't have any time to hold onto those thoughts. They drifted away quickly and as he focused more and more on the pleasant sensation of her touch. Slick fingers traced up and down his vertebrae. The motion was repeated over and over, until his senses were purely focused on tactile input.

She shifted her weight and started to work the kinks out of his shoulders. First of all she set about the task of detecting the places in which his muscles were tense and after she had found them, she applied gentle pressure. A groan escaped his lips.

"Too much?" she asked worriedly.

"No, just right," his voice sounded sleepy and completely relaxed, but there was a certain urgency in his voice when he spoke the next words. "Don't stop!"

"I won't," Nina smiled and continued massaging his shoulders. Most of the lotion on her fingers was gone now. As if on cue the doorbell rang. She jumped off his back and ran to answer it, leaving him back on the couch wondering whether or not he had just dreamed that she had given him a back rub.

He heard her talking to the delivery person. They had gotten as far as paying, but now there seemed to be some sort of problem. "Erm... Steve, I'd need a hand here!" she called out to him. As to be expected the logistics of carrying more than 5 little white cardboard boxes exceeded a single person's capacity.

He got up with a groan, pulled his T-shirt over his head and padded towards the door. When he appeared behind Nina, the delivery boy started to fidget as if he had something to say, but just wasn't brave enough to get it out. Eventually he worked up the courage. "Hey, aren't you...," he started.

"No, definitely not," Nina interrupted him, smiling a dazzling smile at the poor boy as if she wanted to hypnotize him, which reminded Stephen oddly of Kaa, the snake from the Jungle Book. "Distant cousin twice removed. Puzzling resemblance, isn't it? Thanks and bye!" She exclaimed and closed the door in the poor man's face with an apologetic smile.

"That was rude," he grinned at her and opened the door again. He was amused by her antics, but just couldn't quite convince himself to leave the poor bloke standing there like this.

Stephen reached for the pen in the man's breast pocket and the brochure of the takeaway. His "Mind if I borrow these?" was completely superfluous because the lad didn't react. He scribbled his signature on the brochure and held it out to the delivery boy who started smiling like it was Christmas Eve.

The door closed a second time. The smiling delivery boy remained standing there for several more moments before he left. Inside the apartment Stephen and Nina started setting the table for dinner. Well, "setting it" was a perhaps bit exaggerated, since they only got out glasses and something to drink. Somewhere along the way they had agreed to eat straight out of the boxes.

Nina nearly choked on her first piece of sweet-and-sour crispy duck when Stephen directly addressed the serious subject they had only briefly grazed earlier. "I'm sorry, but I just have to ask. It's been on me mind the whole time. How did you happen to get burnout?"

"You wanna talk about that now?" she asked incredulously.

"Anything speaking against it? Would you be ready to talk about it at any other time?" The piece of food was sitting at the end of his chop sticks. He didn't eat it yet. He would probably wait until he had gotten his answer.

Nina pushed the box with food away from herself. She wasn't that aloof about the subject to be able to continue eating. He noticed and apologized.

"It's okay, I can understand where this question comes from. If someone dropped a bombshell like that on me, I'd like to know more as well," she replied.

He waited for her to continue speaking. His chopsticks were sticking out of the food container now. He had rammed them unceremoniously into the rice. She started talking hesitantly. "It's not like you wake up one day and say: "Wow, I think I have burnout." It's gradual... At first I hardly noticed, but towards the end I didn't feel like myself anymore. I felt drained all the time... I retreated into myself, didn't talk to anyone. I thought that I could cope on my own; that I didn't need anybody's help. I was wrong."

"But you're over it now?"

"It doesn't work like that," she shook her head and smiled at him gently. "It never goes away."

"So there is a danger of you relapsing?" Someone other than Nina might have thought his questions insensitive. Perhaps they were a little, but at any rate they signaled his interest. It was visible in the way he looked at her, his face all serious in concentration and concern.

"Yes, sometimes I find myself slipping," she admitted with some difficulty. It was hard meeting his gaze. She fiddled around with her chopsticks instead. He laid his large hand on top of hers. Her fingers stopped moving. His thumb stroked over her knuckles.

"When?" he asked.

"When I forget to take my lunch break. When I push myself too hard once again. When I think I have to do everything on my own..."

"Is there any way I can help you? Anything I can do?" Nina looked at his face and took in the sincere expression there. She sighed and reached out her hand to cup his cheek. The gesture was inadequate to convey the gratitude she felt upon hearing him offer something like that. She slung her arms around his neck and he pulled her onto his lap.

"Thank you for asking," she told him quietly and nuzzled his cheek.

"That's not exactly an answer," he told her and she could see the slightest bit of reproach on his face when she pulled back.

Nina thought for a moment. "I'm not sure there is one. If there was a patented solution to this problem, I wouldn't have to see a shrink every now and then." The reproach one his face had been replaced by true concern. Perhaps this once she had gone too far. There was a reason why people shied away from saying certain things.

She covered her mouth with her hand, horrified by her own frankness. "I shouldn't have said that! Now you think I'm a complete nutcase." She made as if to get up, but he pulled her down on his lap again. She looked confused, so he felt the need to set a few things straight.

He framed her face with his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. "It was right to tell me. And no, you are not a nutcase… Wait. Let me rephrase that. I enjoy the amount of craziness you have in you, it goes nicely with my own."

She made a face. His words still hadn't managed to get through to her. Maybe it had been because of his joking tone, but once he had to get serious, he felt insecure and exposed. Well, she had just opened up to him in a way she never had before. It was only fair if he returned the favor. He let go of her face and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated with his inability to make her understand. "Listen," he tried again, "you have to know that I'm not the guy for all that romantic shite. I won't give you a Claddagh ring, I won't buy you flowers or chocolate..." She grinned as he said that, so he knew he was reaching her. "But Nina," he continued, hoping that his next words would also manage to get through to her like those before, "to me you're perfect."

"Perfect?" she repeated in a frail voice that was threatening to fail her. Without knowing it he had found her one Achilles Heel. Perfect. She couldn't even begin to describe how big of an issue that seemingly harmless word was to her. Ever since she had been a child she had tried to meet expectations, to not disappoint anyone. Pathetically low on self-esteem, she had desperately craved the approval of others while it should have been her own approval she should have been after. So inevitably his saying that little word, ripped open a wound that she thought had just begun healing.

"Perfect," he repeated. "But I don't mean it in the usual sense of the word." He had a suspicion that his explanation barely made sense, which made him think the frown on her face meant that she was equally frustrated with his ineptness to communicate his true feelings on the matter. Though in fact he couldn't have been further from the truth. She was struggling not to burst into tears, while he thought that the only problem was that he needed to be less clumsy with words and finally get around to saying what he actually wanted to say. "How can I explain this...," he sighed. "There is only this one you and this one me... And I wouldn't have you any other way. You're just right the way you are. The whole package of outspokenness, cheekiness, loveliness, occasional rudeness and madness. And why are all these blasted words finishing in -ness?"

The whole "ness-part" of his little speech prevented her from becoming a sobbing mess for now and distracted her from her emotional upheaval. She laughed at his puzzled and sort of bemused facial expression. Though a little ineptly, he had managed to make his point. She gave him a quick kiss. Her eyes were shining. "Okay, I think I get what you mean."

"You do?" he seemed surprised. "Do you get that I don't want you to be anybody else? And also that you're just perfect the way you are? You don't always have to try so hard, you know... "

"I don't always have to try so hard...," she repeated those words. Her smile faltered, even turned briefly into a grimace. A small sob burst from her throat. It almost sounded like the whimper of a hurt animal. She turned her face away.

"Have I said something wrong?" His hands hovered over her shoulders. He was unsure whether it was okay to touch her or do something more proactive like forcing her to turn around and look at him.

"No," she laughed with a very shaky and small voice and tried to quickly wipe the tears from her eyes, so he wouldn't see them. When she finally turned around to him again, there were no more tears, but her eyes were still red and watery. "No, just the right thing in fact." She rubbed her hands over her face. "My therapist would probably high-five you for that sentence. That's what he's been trying to tell me for the last couple of years. I can sometimes convince myself to believe it. But not always."

"Are you sure there really nothing I can do? Nothing at all?" he tried again.

She smiled. "Only this: Be there. Kick my ass when I overdo it and work too hard. Suggest that we do something fun together. Come with me and have fun yourself."

"Sounds easy," he said.

"Yeah, _sounds _easy," she put a lot of emphasize on the word "sounds". "Ever tried to get me to drop something work-related I'm doing. No? Good luck, Mister," she told him.

"I don't give up easily," he remarked.

"I know that. Which in turn makes you just perfect."

"Hardly," he said with a self-effacing snort.

"Hard to take that little word, isn't it? And I could go and wax on about your perfectness," she smiled. "Skin like snow, eyes like sapphires...," she thought briefly, then smiled a quite cheeky smile when she came up with another simile, "hair like burning flames and a honey tongue. Who could resist a guy like that?" Clearly she was teasing him, but in a very affectionate way.

"Lots of girls back home in Ireland."

"Back when you were younger?" she asked with very real sympathy.

"I was very... extremely... overwhelmingly popular with the girls," he told her and punctuated every one of those adverbs with a peck to her cheek.

"Their loss my gain," she shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm some catch alright," he said in a self-depreciative tone of voice, "I spend most of my time on the road. Thanks to my job I'm guaranteed to end up in hospital once or twice a year. Any relationship I can have is bound to be a long distance one... Worse yet, I won't always be there when you need me..."

"What are you doing selling yourself short like this? Do you want to tell me that being with you is a stupid idea?" She shot him a stern, but also somewhat questioning look.

"No, absolutely not. I just want you to be realistic about this. I'm just warning you that me life is a bit of a mess."

"Stephen, I am being realistic about this. I'm all about realism. Look, what I've just told you," the use of his full name, without abbreviating it or substituting it with a term of endearment as she usually did, made clear she was very serious about what she said. "I'm under no illusion this is going to be easy. Life's kicked me in the teeth way too often for me not to know that. But I'm willing to fight for the things I want."

"Okay," He nodded pensively. Should he tell her everything that was going through his head then? After all she had just said that she wanted to be realistic about their relationship and in order to be just that she needed to know the whole truth about his life. There was even a high chance she was going to be able to stomach it. He had already said enough to send any sane woman running for the hills and yet she was still sitting on his lap like nothing had happened. Perhaps he should get everything out in the open. It made no sense leaving things unfinished now. He cleared his throat and started talking again. "There's another thing, though…," he tried to gauge her reaction by looking at her face. The expression on it could best be described as curious, so he continued. "I told you why I keep wearing that cap, right?"

"So you won't get recognized so easily?"

"Yes. I hold my face into a camera on a twice, sometimes thrice weekly basis. Then there are all these PR events I do: autograph sessions, radio interviews, morning shows... It's a blessing and I'm more grateful than I can say, but the other side of the coin is that privacy becomes an increasingly rare occurrence," he told her.

She nodded slowly. "So you're telling me I can't take a stroll down Main Street with you without causing a spectacle?"

"Yeah, and if you did, you'd be the center of attention as well," he said. The way he looked at her told her he was unsure about how she would take the whole unadulterated truth about his life.

Since they were getting everything out in the open now, he seemed to have decided to go the whole way. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg. There's also the fact that I'm stubborn to a fault, I have a temper, in case you haven't already noticed...," he paused to give her time to say something, which she did.

"Oh dear! Is this a pity party? I've forgotten my invite," she drawled sarcastically. "Why are you destroying my girlish dreams of an Irish Prince Charming? Relax I've kind of gotten the idea that you're a mere mortal ever since you snored right into my ears the first night we spent together."

He looked at her in surprise. Where was this conversation going?

"Oh, don't look so shocked. I'm really okay with a little snoring. I mean, look at you, I expected you to bolt after what I told you. You didn't. Instead you kept insisting that I'm perfect. You know what? You are really an odd guy. And the fact that you think that I'm going to let someone slip through my fingers who believes that I, the Queen-of-Messed-Up, am perfect, now that makes you even odder."

For once Stephen was speechless. It was actually the first time since she knew him that he had absolutely nothing to say. "I can't tell you how well I'll be able to cope with all of those things you've just told me about, but I'll try for you. I'll try as hard as I possibly can because you're worth it, because honestly, the alternative is for cowards. And I'm surely no coward. Are you?" By adding that question at the end she was trying to help him back into the conversation, actually she was baiting him with a challenge, knowing that he was someone who never backed down from a challenge.

"You know I'm not. The last guy to call me a coward went home with a massive shiner," he told her and she nodded grimly at his words. "Aaaah, love," he ran his hand through the soft and short hair that covered the sides of her head, "why does realistic always have to be so feckin' complicated?" he sighed.

"Cause less complication would make the important things in life also less important," she suggested and he had to smirk at how easy she was making things sound thanks to her nonchalant tone.

"I don't know about you, but I've had enough of all that serious talk. Can we continue eating now? I'm kind of hungry, though I suppose dinner's gone cold now. Well, what do I have a microwave for?"

He chuckled at the comment that was just so typically her and nodded.

* * *

Mike was on the war path. He was sick of Nina's smug grins in the conference room. At first her presence at the WWE had been a nuisance, but now that she upstaged him on a weekly basis he knew he had to get rid of her.

What Nina didn't know was that he had been present the night when Mark Henry had whipped Sheamus with a leather belt. He had been watching quietly from the shadows when Nina welcomed an injured Stephen backstage. Though they had been careful to be discreet about how they felt about each other they had not been able to conceal it. The looks they exchanged betrayed them as did all of those small gestures.

So basically Mike now had enough ammunition in his hands against her, but he wouldn't do something as inelegant as to blab to the boss about it. He'd destroy her reputation, so nobody would work with her anymore.

On the road wrestlers didn't have much to entertain themselves with, so the rumor mill backstage was quite active. All he had to do was single out some particularly gossipy individuals and carefully let some comments slip. Actually, when the piece of information was juicy enough, it didn't matter if the first one to hear it was talkative or not, news would travel on its own. The one thing Mike could count on was people's need to pry into everyone else's business.

He had just finished briefing Randy Orton for his next couple of matches. Mike liked to go and meet his charges once or twice a month to keep them updated and exchange ideas, so he was backstage of this Monday night's show.

"Thanks for dropping by," Randy slapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, any time, man," Mike replied. "You know I like to take good care of my charges though some people clearly take it too far."

Randy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Actually that had just been the question Mike had been waiting for. "Well, my young colleague responsible for Sheamus and Barrett seems to take it very seriously. I've heard she sees to every single one of their needs." His tone was very suggestive and didn't fail to convey what he actually wanted to say.

"No way," Randy's eyes narrowed, but Mike could tell that he was already asking himself whether what he had told him was true. He just smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders.

Randy wasn't the type to ask further questions about it. If he did, it would be at a later point of time. And he wasn't Mike's prime target. Who he had in mind was a little more talkative, a little more flashy. Someone he shared his first name with. Someone like Mizanin. Mr I-Am-Awesome had to be around here somewhere.

He bid Orton goodbye and went to search the Miz. He didn't have to look very hard. He soon found him hanging around in one of those corridors in the backstage area, talking to someone from the crew.

"Hey, Miz, good luck winning back that championship belt from Barrett!" Mike said and slapped the other man on the shoulder companionably.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Mizanin replied. The guy from staff scurried away and both men saluted him with a nod.

"So how's it going, man?" the wrestler asked Mike. The sole question was already a big mistake because it invited Mike to start talking and further spread his nasty rumors about Nina. After roughly ten minutes he had convinced Miz that Nina was sleeping her way through the locker room to make up for her lack of talent as a writer. Initially the wrestler had sided with Nina and protested against the other man's allegations, but eventually, as Mike made up more and more incriminating evidence, he started believing him.

Now that Mike had reached his goal, he felt it was time to leave. It was foolish and slightly risky to stay around; somebody might discover what he had done. "Don't tell anyone you have it from me, okay?" Mike admonished Mizanin in parting, who looked about ready to burst if he couldn't share this newly acquired piece of information with anyone soon.

"Of course," the Miz said and so Mike was off with a satisfied nod.

Mizanin strolled down the corridor his head still spinning with Mike had just told him. He didn't know what to make of it. It was driving him crazy. He needed to talk to someone about it. He soon found that someone as he pretty much collided with Chris Jericho.

"Sorry," he told the other man, who was as usually sporting a leather jacket and sunglasses despite being inside a building.

"Watch were you're going, Mizanin," Jericho told him with a grin, "Or is the loss of your belt that traumatic to you, you can't pay attention anymore to where you're going?"

"I was just lost in thought, okay?" The way Miz pronounced the 'okay' of the sentence demonstrated that everything was not as okay as he pretended it was.

"Yeah, well good luck with that...," Jericho was about to leave.

"It's just…," Chris stopped moving with a sigh as he heard Mizanin's voice again, "I've heard something about a friend and I don't know whether to tell anyone or just leave my mouth shut."

This comment piqued Chris' interest somehow. He turned around and walked closer. Unbeknownst to both of them Stephen was approaching them from the other end of the corridor. Some transport boxes were stacked up left and right of it, which obstructed the view and made it sort of hard to see even someone of the Irish westler's size and stature.

"All right, now I'm curious, so start talking," Chris leaned against one of those boxes.

"It's about that writer chick Nina who was hanging out with us at Wrestlemania. People say she's sleeping around to work herself up the career ladder and that she..."

Miz didn't get any further than that because he was grabbed by a pair of hands that belonged to a very enraged redhead. He was pinned against the wall and soon came to stare in shock at Stephen's angry sneer. Uh-oh! One glance at Stephen's face made clear that he was barely keeping his temper in check. There was that half crazed expression in his eyes that Miz only knew from the ring when he acted the part of Sheamus. Now there it was again, but only this time it was much scarier because it was one hundred percent real.

"Who the fuck told you that, Mizanin?" the Irishman's grip on the front of his T-shirt tightened a little more. At this point lying to Stephen would have been like throwing stones at a raging bull to get his attention - extremely stupid.

"It was Mike. Mike told me," Miz said and was relieved to discover that Stephen almost immediately let go of him.

"Wow, that was close," he remarked, addressing Jericho who looked on with an extremely worried expression as Stephen marched off, undoubtedly with the objective of locating and killing his former writer.

"You're an idiot, Miz. It's like you just started the countdown on a nuclear bomb. Once he gets his hands on Mike what do you think he will do?"

"Beat the shit out of him?" the Miz supplied with a sheepish grin.

* * *

**Author's note:** _And we finish this chapter with a cliffhanger and a bit of bad news. There's not going to be another update for the next 10 days or so, because I'm going on vacation. (Well, the vacation is not bad news for me, I guess, only for you.) Sorry 'bout that! I'm aware I'm a bit of a meanie... _

_ Punk81: Thank you for your kind words! There's probably no higher praise one can get than that, so THANKS again in capital letters, because the first time around didn't seem enough._ ;-) 


	19. The Scarlet Letter

**_Author's note: _**_Thank you, you awesome people for sticking with me through this ever-growing story! You rock! _

_Just a quick shout-out to ThatGirl54 - Thank you for your kind words. I really appreciated hearing from you. I got your message first thing when I came back home from Italy and it was a very nice welcome-home-present._

* * *

"You're an idiot, Miz. It's like you just started the countdown on a nuclear bomb. Once he gets his hands on Mike what do you think he will do?"

"Beat the shit out of him?" the Miz supplied with a sheepish grin.

Chris nodded and started moving in the direction Stephen had disappeared. "Get Stu and then find me! The two of us alone won't be enough to restrain him physically. And for God's sake hurry!" For once there was something other than cool nonchalance in Chris' voice. He was far from being nonchalant. He was worried. "Go!" Jericho screamed at the younger man and both of them set in motion.

Jericho ran down the corridor of the arena, praying he would be fast enough to catch up with Stephen. The backstage area was a labyrinth. It was difficult to find your way around it. When he rounded the next corner, his feet briefly skittering over the linoleum floor, he spotted the Irishman's retreating back.

Like nearly everyone Chris had enjoyed watching cartoons as a child. For some reason now he had the oddest flashback to those scenes when two pillars of smoke shot out of the tomato-red head of an enraged cartoon character. Probably because Stephen was just as mad.

Almost simultaneously they both spotted Mike Spencer, Stephen's former writer, heading towards the exit of the arena. Stephen let out a roar and started charging down the hallway like a raging bull. Mike just stood there for a moment with a deer in the headlights expression before he started running like the devil incarnate was chasing him.

Jericho sprinted forward and when he was close enough, launched himself at Stephen's back trying to hold him back. It was a comical image: the slightly smaller blonde man hanging from the back of the taller redhead. Despite Jericho's daring show of courage, the effort wasn't quite enough. All it did was slow the Irishman down and piss him off. "Let go of me!" Stephen roared.

Jericho just shook his head. He knew he was seconds away from being slammed into a hard concrete wall back first. Lucky for him that was when the cavalry, in the form of Stuart and Mizanin, arrived. Three people were finally enough to restrain Stephen. Mike had stopped running and turned around to watch the spectacle with something akin to morbid fascination.

"Mike Spencer, you vile coward! Come on over here and face me like a bloody man!" Stephen shouted. For some reason he managed to still drag the three men forward, throwing his entire weight against their hold. "Get the fuck off me! I'm going to beat the crap out of that bloody wanker!"

"Whoa!" Miz exclaimed and planted his feet a bit firmer into the ground to hold back the raging Irishman.

Stuart was the same height as Stephen. His strategy was to position himself in front of the other man and scream in his face. "Oooooiiiii!" That not all too subtle move finally managed to claim Stephen's attention, though only for a brief moment.

"Now you listen, mate. I get that you want to bust that bloke's noggin open, but he's not worth it. Just think for a second. Do you really want to have a lawsuit on your hands?"

Stephen was staring past him, his eyes burning holes into Mike's face. Stuart was daring enough to break the eye contact between the two men again by stepping into Stephen's line of vision. The Irishman glared at him in irritation. "What's it gonna be, Farrelly? Jail time or time with your girl? Think hard."

A growl escaped Stephen's lips. But it was one of defeat.

"You can let go of him now," Stuart told Jericho and Mizanin. The two men did, but still tensed as Stephen turned to his right and kicked at the transport box that stood there with all his might. It rattled and hit the wall behind it with a loud and unpleasant crunch as those metal edges buried themselves briefly in the concrete wall. Mike was clever enough to quickly scurry out of the exit. Stephen sacked down on the transport box he had just used as a football to release his anger in a way that was not harmful to any other living being. He was still breathing heavily. His eyes were unfocused and empty like those of a madman.

"Whoa! That was a close call," Miz remarked.

"No shit, Sherlock," Chris remarked sarcastically, still slightly out of breath from his sprint after Stephen and his football-star-worthy-tackle.

"Anyone wants to fucking explain to me what the bleeding hell's just happened?!" Stuart told them.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you in front of him," Miz nudged his head in Stephen's general direction. "He looks about ready to bash anyone's head in."

"Póg mo thón, Mizanin," Stephen growled and made all three men look at him.

"It speaks," Mizanin observed shrewdly. "But it speaks in tongues."

"Shut your bleeding gob, Miz!" Stuart admonished.

"Seconded," Jericho approved with a grin.

"So?" Stuart glanced around.

Jericho decided to speak up. Contrary to the Miz, he was able to hold his tongue in check and be diplomatic if need be. "I guess Mike was trying to spread some rumors about Nina. Miz never got as far as telling me the whole thing..."

Stuart's gaze inevitably landed on Mizanin again. "Tell us."

"Well," the Miz started, looking insecure for the first time since they'd known him, "he basically said Nina was sleeping around. After having gone through you guys," he looked at Stuart and Stephen, "she was going to work her way through the whole roster."

Stuart instinctively laid a hand on Stephen's shoulder, who was about to jump to his feet again. "No, you stay where you are," he admonished. There was ice cold rage in his eyes now too. Stuart's rage however was of a different variety than Stephen's. He didn't go overboard. He started plotting. After all, his good name had been disgraced too.

Physical violence would not resolve the issue. They would have to take different measures because this was a different sort of game. This was the real world, not one of the company's storylines. In the real world things weren't resolved by getting in the ring together. If an injustice befell you, which clearly had happened to Stuart, Stephen and above all, Nina, there were legal measures you could take. Right, legal measures that sounded like a plan! Stuart grinned.

"Oi, Farrelly, cheer up, mate! I think I've got an idea about what we're going to do," he slapped the man his hand on his shoulder, his enthusiastic tone and the gesture immediately claiming his attention, "I don't know about you, but I feel deeply offended and outraged," the evil glint in Stuart's eyes could have sent armies running screaming in the other direction. "I think I will have to get in the phone with my lawyer. What about you?"

Stephen's scowl slowly turned into a malicious grin that almost rivaled the one of Stuart's face. The Brit continued to speak, now directing his attention on the Miz. "Slander is a serious offense. After all we have enough witnesses. Right, Mizanin?"

The younger man let out an unnerved groan. "This is so not awesome. I think I'm gonna puke."

* * *

She had an appointment at Dickson's office at nine o'clock. She had received an email yesterday evening that requested her presence there in cool, professional and very impersonal words. There was no doubt in her mind that this meeting wasn't good news, so she had been nervously shooting glances over her shoulder all morning.

Her office was on the same floor as Dickson's and the WWE building was very modern, which meant it was light-flooded, there were lots of windows and most of the doors were partially see-through. When she saw two large, muscular men in suits breeze past her office Nina jumped right to her feet. It was not only their stature which had claimed her attention. It was the fact that she thought she had recognized Stephen and Stuart. Of course that was rather stupid, because right now they were supposed to be several hundred miles away preparing for yet another show. Nevertheless she decided to risk a peek outside her door.

Despite the two men's unusual attire, she recognized them immediately. "Stephen! Stuart!" she called out in her surprise. Both men froze. There seemed to be some sort of hushed exchange between them, which she wasn't able to catch because they stood with their backs facing to her. She just managed to overhear the end of it. "You haven't called her, Farrelly? You'd better go and explain this."

Stephen approached her with an expression on his face that was disquieting because it was very serious and laced with guilt. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. Her posture was stiff, her back rigid and her jaw set tightly when he came to stand in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked without any further ado. No gentle words of greeting. They got straight to business right away.

He had been dreading this moment ever since the happenings of the previous evening because he knew she would not approve of what he and Stuart were trying to do, she would see it as an unnecessary interference in her affairs. For a moment he pondered on what to say and came up with nothing diplomatic or smart that would make things easier for both of them, so he just went with what popped in his head first.

"We're here because we're going to sue Mike Spencer," he told her looking down at the tips of his shiny shoes almost ashamedly.

"Sue Mike?" Precisely in the moment she asked that question he saw something behind her eyes click. There was no doubt in his mind she had already partially figured out what was going on. Did that mean he still needed to answer her question? Seconds grew into a whole minute and behind him Stuart was clearing his throat impatiently. Apparently she did expect him to answer her question.

"Yes, sue him," he confirmed.

"I got that the first time. Why?"

He shifted on his feet. "He turned up yesterday at the arena after the show and started spreading rumors about you backstage." Her eyes flashed. He could tell she was angry but she tried to suppress that anger. "Continue," she just said. He wasn't sure that was wise, but it made no sense to stop now. "He went around telling people that you had slept with both Stuart and I and were going to work your way through the entire roster to climb up the career ladder."

Now that he had told her, he looked at her, waiting anxiously for her reaction. He waited for a spectacular explosion, for screams, for a red light flickering behind her pupils, rotating heads, little puffs of smoke coming from her nostrils... Instead her reaction was comparatively meek.

"That asshole!" Nina muttered quietly. Currently her eyes were trained on the floor. He could tell her anger had been somewhat quenched by pensiveness. Her eyes had a strange faraway look to them as they stared at the carpet. Suddenly they settled on him again. Apparently she had come to some kind of conclusion. "Well, he's at least right about the two of us. We did sleep together. If you get a lawyer involved, you will have to tell him about us," she pointed out in a strangely neutral tone of voice.

"Yes, I guess I would have to," he said. That only occurred to him now. Despite the fact that he had been lying awake the better part of last night to make sense of this situation, his mind had been too clouded by his rage to think of every detail, even the important ones.

What angered him more than anything was how Mike could go around saying things like that about Nina. She was clever, outgoing, funny... What on earth had she ever done to merit such treatment? If there was one thing he absolutely hated, it was most definitely bullies. He despised them; ever since school. He had been picked on a lot as a child. Perhaps it was because of those negative childhood experiences that he hated the sort of people who picked on others to feel better about themselves. Maybe that was also why he felt like he had to protect her.

When he looked at her, he couldn't help but get angry again. Some of that anger was directed at Mike, some of it against himself because he hadn't been able to see what was going on and protect her from it. It was paradoxical, because he couldn't have done anything, but nevertheless he felt guilty. There was a look on her face that nearly killed him. It was one he would never be able to forget. She was deeply disappointed in him.

"And you thought it would be a good thing to just come breezing in here and do this? What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you call me to talk this over?"

"Look, I know I should have called," he admitted. He was fully aware his behavior wasn't very thoughtful, but all he had wanted to do was help her out. After all, suing Mike would clear her name. "But it only happened last night," he tried to justify his actions, "And you should have seen me then. I was in no state to call. I was so pissed off I snapped. It needed three men to restrain me: Chris, Stuart and the Miz. If it weren't for them, I would have done something incredibly daft, like beating Mike into a bloody pulp."

It was too much. She felt overwhelmed. One minute everything had been alright, the next things went downhill rapidly. All she wanted to do right now, was run away and never ever look back. But running was no solution in real life. It sure sounded tempting sometimes, but it wasn't an option. "Do you really think playing the knight in shining armor will solve the problem?" she asked. "I might as well start stitching a big red "A" to all my clothes now. This rumor is never going to go away, no matter how many times we sue Mike, no matter how untrue it may be."

He had not been prepared for her being angry at him for trying to protect her. He just stood there unable to say anything as she walked past him with the words. "I'll come with you." Her demeanor was all cool and business-like. There was no spark of warmth, no friendliness underneath. He didn't like what he saw or what was happening, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

"Where were you going to take this? McMahon or Dickson?" she asked both men after she had nodded at Stuart in salute. She was trying to appear calm and collected, but on the inside she was barely keeping it together. She was angry, disappointed, sad... Christ, she was feeling a whole lot of things she didn't even have a name for. If fate was merciful, the name the guys would now tell her would be Dickson, because she had never even talked to McMahon face to face. Yes, she had seen him and been in the same room with him, but she had never had one single conversation with him and actually she'd prefer it stayed that way, because frankly, she was intimidated by the man.

Of course the answer she received was as to be expected: McMahon. Fate was a cruel mistress after all.

"Stephen! Stuart! Ms. Stewart! To what do I owe this pleasure?" McMahon sonorous voice asked loudly. He quickly rounded his desk to shake their hands. Like everyone else inside this room he was towering over Nina, who felt even more like she didn't belong because obviously

she didn't meet the height standards.

"We had a rather unpleasant run-in with Mike Spencer yesterday evening at the arena, sir. We're thinking about pressing charges against him for slander," Stuart informed his boss in a carefully neutral voice. He wasn't one to mince around matters. Instead of making small talk first he preferred to get straight to the heart of the matter. "But we wanted to come to you before we did anything. Maybe you see another way this can be resolved."

McMahon frowned. "Slander? You want to elaborate on that, son?"

Stuart opened his mouth to say something in reply, but Nina beat him to it. Quite inevitably everybody's eyes were on her. "Mike's has had something against me ever since I started working here. After Wrestlemania he already tired something similar. He told everybody Stephen and I had hooked up in the men's. Now he's just become more radical. He tells people I sleep around to make up for my lack of talent."

McMahon's gave her a long appraising look. No doubt he was trying to make sense of her before he continued this conversation. "So are you sleeping around?" The question was brutal and to the point and she felt Stephen behind her tense, but before he could open his stupid mouth and say something even more stupid to defend her honor, Nina decided to speak for herself.

"No, of course not. I've got certain standards. Casual sex is nothing that interests me. There have to be a lot of woman who see things my way. After all vibrators are still highly in demand."

Her words were crude and she could see McMahon was surprised to hear them coming from a woman's mouth. But surprisingly he also seemed to find them amusing. He smiled.

"You're quite outspoken...," he remarked.

"Mr. McMahon, with all due respect, most of your employees are men, so in order for a woman to survive in this industry she has to be somewhat outspoken," she told him matter-of-factly, appearing completely calm and collected on the outside, even though her hands were cold and sweaty and her knees were shaking.

"How come that despite that I have a feeling though that there is something more you're not telling me?" Mr. McMahon was a clever man. You didn't get to be the boss of a multimillion dollar industry for nothing.

Stuart made a declining hand gesture and stepped back. This wasn't his story to tell.

"Do you want to or should I?" Stephen asked Nina. She had not looked at him once ever since they entered the room, which wasn't a good sign.

"I'll do it," told him, without meeting his eyes. "Mr. McMahon, you're right I neglected to tell you about one particular thing because it's a private matter. He's right about Stephen and I..." she paused. Perhaps she was thinking about what their current relationship status was. Stephen wasn't too sure about that as well. Given the fact that she had vastly ignored him ever since he had broken the bad news to her, it was at present unclear to Stephen whether their relationship still existed or not. "We have been seeing each other outside of work."


	20. Falling Apart At The Seams

**Author's note: **_UntilNeverDawns, thank you so much for your help with this chapter. I hope I've managed to take care of those 'Huh?'-moments. _;-)

_I apologize in advance for being mean to my characters (and also to you, my dear readers), but I've been exposed to the works of one Mr. Whedon and one Mr. Moffat for too long apparently... I'm going to blame this on them. Yeah, sounds like a good plan..._

* * *

She saw McMahon take a deep breath. Perhaps he was going to reprimand them for their behavior, but honestly, they hadn't done anything to merit it, so she started talking before he could. "Before you say anything, we have always kept it hushed. Only a handful of people know. My brother, Stuart here and Chris Jericho. That's it. As for my duties as a writer, I have always kept the company's best interests at heart. I haven't gone about my job any differently since our private relationship changed, in fact if I may say so myself, it only made me aspire to do a better job."

McMahon sat down on the edge of his desk with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So one of my superstars starts dating a girl from creative and suddenly all hell breaks loose... You're aware that Dickson was going to fire your ass later, right?"

Nina's posture stiffened a little. "No, I wasn't. May I at least ask why?"

"Of course." McMahon crossed his arms over his massive chest. "He told me something about your promiscious behaviour being no longer tolerable. He also complained about it being an affront to the image of our company... Wrestling has turned into a family friendly form of entertainment after all and if word of this ever leaked to the press, we'd be done for. So you see, his wish to fire you is really understandable ."

"I get that," Nina said in a deceptively calm voice. "But since those allegiations were nothing but a bunch of lies fabricated by some bully, wouldn't it be even less pretty if word got out? Whatever happened to the Be a STAR campaign? Wasn't that something about anti-bullying? For some reason Mike's behavior strikes me as that of a bully..."

McMahon grinned. "Touché, Miss Stewart. I agree with you. Tell me, how much do you want to keep your job?"

For the first time in an hour or so Nina looked over at Stephen. His face was tense, which wasn't very helpful, because that was exactly how she was feeling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, unable to comprehend what McMahon was trying to tell her.

"It means when it comes down to having to choose, what would you choose? Your job? Or love?" A lot of sarcasm was dripping off that single word 'love'.

Nina inclined her head to the left as she regarded the chairman of the WWE. She felt the air around her crackle with tension because all of the eyes in the room were on her. She did the last thing anyone expected her to in a situation like that. She threw back her head and laughed.

"Do you honestly think this is a difficult choice for me? Oh, God this is funny! Even if those two," she gestured at Stephen and Stuart, "sue Mike and win, my name will never be washed clean of those allegations. So working this job will be a continuous struggle. My parents taught me to always work hard and give my best, which is a valuable lesson to learn. But you know what? A job doesn't hug you when you come home at night. It pays the bills, on occasion it consumes your every waking moment, but it's just a job after all. Nothing more and nothing less. It's not a person, it's not necessarily happiness. It's a means to an end. I work to live, but I don't live to work." McMahon was about to say something, but she quickly continued talking, holding up her index finger admonishingly. "I know how this may sound like I'm making a choice, but I just wanted you to know how I feel, because I'm not going to choose. At least, not under your terms. I'm going to quit."

"What?" Stephen's outraged voice resounded through the office. "You are not going to bloody quit!"

"Don't you fucking tell me what to do, Stephen! If I want to quit, I'll quit and there is nothing you can do about it," she hissed at him. _So now she was going to acknowledge his presence? This was just marvelous!_

"The hell you will! I can't do anything about it?! Do you really think so? What if I quit, too?" He took a step closer to her, sticking out his chin challengingly as he towered over her.

"Don't be an absolute moron, Farrelly!" She told him, throwing him an incredulous and thoroughly unimpressed stare. "This might seem like a noble gesture right now, but use your head! Your contract is worth what? A couple of million dollars?! Are you fucking out of your mind?"

"You should listen to your girlfriend, Stephen. She does have a point. Or should I say soon to be ex-girlfriend?" McMahon inquired.

"Why shouldn't I go ahead and quit too?" Stephen asked, completely ignoring his boss. All he was interested in right now was Nina and the argument they were having at present.

"Because, to use your own words, this is something you love, something you always wanted to do. And if you quit your job over me and some idiotic notion of chivalry, we're through, understood?" Despite her harsh words her voice was imploring. But for the life of him he couldn't find it in his heart to agree with her.

"As you said before, a job alone isn't enough to make you happy...," he repeated her earlier words.

"Oh my God!" She actually pulled at her hair when she said those words. "You are such an idiot! Don't be so stupid! Are you occasionally listening in on what you're saying? If you do this, you're probably going to hate me for the rest of your life. Do you think I want that? I want you to be happy! Don't you get that, you stupid, stubborn Irishman?" She took a step closer and reached up to clasp his face with both of her hands. "Now you listen, you big old lug, you'll stay here and don't do anything stupid. I'm going to pack my things and go find myself another job."

"I don't think so," McMahon decided to interrupt the heart-wrenching scene. The three other occupants of the room looked at him in puzzlement. He apparently had to spell everything out for them. "You don't have to quit, Miss Stewart."

"I don't?" Her hands sank down from Stephen's face.

"No. I've a soft spot for women with spunk. Though it's obvious you can't keep writing for Stephen here."

"Why not?" she challenged and was immediately nudged in the ribs by Stephen because of it. It was his way of signaling her to shut up, but she just glared at him. "Who do you think you are? My legal guardian?"

Behind them Stuart flinched at her sharp tone. Apparently Stephen had pissed her off more than she let on and she had already let on that she was extremely angry.

"I don't think you have it in you to knowingly send him into situations that might be dangerous for him. After all, this job isn't completely risk free... Or do you want to tell me this has never given you any pause?"

Nina made a face. Involuntarily her thoughts drifted back to the match between Stephen and Mark Henry a couple of weeks back. If she was honest with herself, she did have a problem being the one to send him into those kind of situations. "It has," she finally admitted begrudgingly. And after a brief pause she immediately asked: "So if I lose Sheamus, do I at least get to keep Wade Barrett?"

Her boss smirked. "I don't see any reason why you shouldn't," McMahon told her.

"Who will I be assigned to then?"

"We'll see about that," McMahon told her.

"What about Mike?" Stephen decided to speak up once again. After all that's what they had come here for originally - they had wanted to take care of their little Mike problem.

"Leave that to me," McMahon reassured them. His affirmation sounded ominous. For some reason Stephen felt less than satisfied with the outcome of this meeting. "So what exactly does that mean?" he asked.

"I promise the problem will be taken care of."

Though currently Stephen and Nina didn't seem to see eye to eye on a whole lot of things, they at least appeared to be on the same wave length concerning Mike. "Maybe you can give us a bit more information," Nina tried to appeal to McMahon.

"Yeah, that's not much to go on," Stuart said, finally speaking up again after a long while.

"You are really a tough crowd, you know that right?" McMahon narrowed his eyes at them and rubbed his chin. "All right. We're talking temporary payment suspension or possibly even dismissal."

"Now that sounds a little more reassuring," Stuart nodded his approval.

A brief smile of relief appeared on Nina's face and then quickly disappeared again. The fact that Stephen had wanted to do this behind her back still stung. She needed to get away from him before she did something stupid. "Mr. McMahon, do you mind if I...?" she gestured towards the door.

"Not at all, I'm sure you and Stephen have a lot to talk about," McMahon gave her a knowing look which left Nina with the unpleasant aftertaste of pity. Pity always got the same reaction out of her: aggression. That feeling intensified when she thought of the prospect of having to talk to Stephen.

Upon hearing his name, Nina inevitably shot Stephen a reproachful look which seemed to say "Just don't follow me!" He didn't merit the artificial smile she threw the other two men. Unfortunately it would need much more than a nasty look to discourage him from going after her; he was quite stubborn after all.

She left McMahon's office and as was to be expected, he followed right behind. "We need to talk," he announced as soon as they were out of that door.

"Do we? I have a feeling now is not good time for that," she shot him another dirty look.

"You can glare at me all you want, luv. I won't go away," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you want to talk to me when I'm angry enough to kick you in the balls? That's a brilliant strategy! Very clever! Let me compliment you on that stellar idea, Farrelly," her voice was snide and he probably deserved that, but McMahon's secretary was already perking her ears, so he thought it would be wise to take this somewhere a little more private.

"Can we talk in your office?" he asked, trying to bite back the retort that was lying on the tip of his tongue. As he had mentioned to her countless times, he had a temper. How could it be she had forgotten that? He could only take so much until he snapped. He only hoped and prayed that he would be able to calm down somewhat on their way to her office.

She shook her head. "Thin walls. Also I'm sharing it with two other colleagues. Not a lot of privacy. I've got a better idea..."

He just nodded and followed her as she turned around abruptly and marched off to the elevator. She pressed the button for the basement with a little extra force, doubtlessly channeling some of her frustration into that simple gesture.

They passed the elevator ride down in terse silence. The basement of the building housed a subterranean garage for the employees of the WWE. The architect, apparently rather mindful of safety precautions, had thought ahead and divided the garage from the main building with a couple of heavy fire proof doors. She stepped through the first of two doors leading to the garage and came to an abrupt stop. The door slammed shut behind them with a final bang. Those two door were supposed to keep a fire from spreading; they would probably also do a good job at containing the noise of a heated discussion.

"So what did you want to talk about?" she asked defiantly. "I've already told you it's not smart talking to me now, right?"

"Yes, you have. But how smart do you think it would be to put off this conversation? I'm not even sure you'll talk to me later if I don't explain now...," he pointed out to her. The elevator ride had at least partially done the trick. He was relatively calm again and able to have a rational conversation.

"What's there to talk about?"

"You tell me. You're the one who's all riled up." It struck him only after he had said those words that they were the verbal equivalent of waving a red flag in front of a bull's eyes. He immediately wished he could take them back, but it was too late now.

"All riled up?" she echoed. "Oh, trust me! It's nothing major. Just that you seem to think it's you who takes all the decisions in this relationship...," Nina drawled sarcastically.

"What? Are you completely off your fucking nut?" his eyes widened in surprise. Subconsciously he took a step closer to her, which would have been intimidating to every other woman except her. She in turn also took a step closer to him and jabbed her index finger into his chest.

"Off my nut? Are you trying to tell me you think I'm crazy?!" she screeched. He captured her wrist with his hand and pulled her finger away from his chest. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp with an angry snarl.

"You sure act like you're crazy...," he told her in a barely contained low voice that reminded her a bit of a growling dog.

"I'm beginning to think you don't have the slightest idea how relationships work. Let me explain this to you. We are supposed to be a team now, you and I," she spoke slowly and in a patronizing way as if she was talking to a spoiled child. Her superior attitude was making his blood boil and his hands curled into fists at his sides; nevertheless he remained quiet and listened. "That means that you don't get to go to McMahon behind my back and try to fucking sue Mike! You don't get to tell me what to do! And much less do you get to decide how I live my fucking life!" At this point of their argument she had raised her voice to a loud scream. It bounced off the walls of the small enclosed space, created by the two fire proof doors and resounded in his ears long after she was done screaming at him.

He had never been able to stand it when someone screamed at him. It always had the same result. He got mad. He turned around and hit his flat hand against the metal door with a roar. The noise of his hand hitting the door was comparable to someone hitting the hood of a car with a sledge hammer.

This woman! This bleeding thrice damned woman made him angrier than any other person he had ever met. And he had met a lot of irritating bastards in his time. She made his blood boil and his skin crawl. He was not even sure he was able to express his anger in words. He turned around and glared at her, his chest heaving.

And still she was not afraid of him. He had seen grown men run in the other direction when he got like that. Some fellas back in Ireland would have sprinted barefoot all the way to London to get away from him when he was in this sort of mood. She, however, just stood there and glared at him.

"Aaaah!" A scream of frustration broke out of him. "Why the fuck can't you let anyone take care of you?! Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn, woman?! All I wanted was to help you... Can't you see that?"

"I don't need your help. In fact, come to think of it, I don't even need this conversation right now. It's pointless. You're angry, I'm angry. Pointless! I'm going to leave now," she told him already walking towards the door.

"Yeah, you do that!" he told her.

"Fine!" she told him with a little extra venom in her voice.

"Fine!" he shot back and she let the door slam shut behind her to make a point. He stood there for a while longer. His breathing eventually slowed down. He became aware of a dull throbbing in the heel of his hand and when he looked down at it, it was red and hurt when he touched it. The pain let his anger slowly dissipate and as he started to gradually regain the ability to think clearly, a deep feeling of remorse came over him. What the hell had just happened? And more importantly why had he let it happen? Had he really just screwed everything up?

* * *

Nina sat at her couch staring at the TV. Some movie was on, but she didn't pay any attention to it. In her thoughts she was reliving the happenings of today for the umpteenth time. Her throat felt very tight and her stomach was queasy, even though it was empty.

Funny, how the TV-screen casts a bluish light on everything, despite the pictures on it being multi-color. She picked at the threads protruding from the hole in the fabric of her jeans that left her right knee uncovered. "I'm not going to cry over him," she repeated the day's mantra in her head. Up until now she had succeeded. She grabbed a cushion from next to her and hugged it to her chest like a teddy bear. "I'm not going to cry over him." One more time, all together now!

God, how she missed him! God, how she hated him right now! Her vision started fogging up and she hurled the pillow across the living room with a frustrated groan. No! No! No!

She got to her feet and started pacing. Suddenly she felt the overwhelming urge to see him and talk to him just to set things right, but that wasn't possible anymore. He was probably already several hundred miles away. Too far away. And what did she want to talk about? He had behaved like a caveman. Now that she had had a chance to think about it she could understand that he done it out of some misguided attempt of saving her and playing her knight in shining armor. But she didn't need saving. She needed a partner, not something stupid like a guy who sat on a horse and wore an ugly, impractical, and disproportionately large tin can.

Right from the start things had been so easy, so uncomplicated between them, she couldn't help but wonder how everything had gotten so messy so fast. Perhaps she shouldn't have slept with him... Perhaps it was simply not meant to be.

"Stop it! Stop this bullshit!" she admonished herself. "You love him. You might hate his guts right now, but you still love him. What does that tell you?" Her thoughts were getting her nowhere. Or maybe not nowhere. Just nowhere comfortable. Because if she followed that line of thought right to the end, she might find out that she was going to forgive him, just as soon as the word 'sorry' would leave his stupid mouth. But what if that 'sorry' never came? What if they had blown their one and only chance to be together? They had not even really started their relationship properly and they had already messed it up. Now if that wasn't depressing, what was?

She raked her hand through her hair and let out a sad chuckle, because it made her think of his unruly hair which he nearly always hid under a flat cap. This was too much! She needed to forget.

Nina got to her feet and padded to the kitchen. She was determined to get shit-faced. There was a bottle of Scotch in the kitchen cupboard with her name on it. She ripped open the cupboard. The bottle was standing on the topmost shelf. It was clear as day who had put it there, because she was too small to reach it. So she stood there looking up at it incredulously as tears started streaming down her face. Actually she was alternating between laughing hysterically and crying. Anyone who saw her like that would probably mistake her for a madwoman. Well, perhaps that judgment wasn't too far off. She was pretty crazy.

Great! An inner voice started mocking her for wallowing in self-pity. Her nose was about to start dripping from all that crying she had been doing, so she went in search of a tissue. She noisily blew her nose when her cellphone started ringing. It was the middle of the night, around eleven. Who could be calling her so late? Her eyes fell on the display and read his name. She was torn between answering it and flushing the cellphone down the toilet in order to keep herself from picking it up. More ringing. She wasn't that strong. She reached for the phone.

"'ello?" Her nose was completely blocked and tears were still running down her cheeks, but hopefully he wouldn't hear that. She was a pathetic sight. A pathetic human individual. Why couldn't she just have let the phone ring?

"Hello," he said softly. The remorse in his voice was hard to miss. It got even more prominent when he asked the next question: "Are you crying?"

"No, no, I've just got a runny nose" she lied, but it was pretty useless, because her voice was really nasal and no matter how much she protested there was also a pathetic little quiver in it.

"Nina...," he sighed. "Stop crying, luv."

His voice right then and there was enough for her to fully break out crying. It was like the flood gates had opened. All the tension of the last couple of months, all those moments she had pretended she was stronger than she actually was, were finally taking their toll. There was only so much she could take. Today she had almost been fired and on top of things, she had a spectacular fight with Stephen, which might or might not have resulted in their break-up. She wasn't too sure about the current status of their relationship.

Nina threw the phone on the couch. She was disgusted with herself. She was not weak. She did not cry. The hand she pressed to her mouth managed stifling the sob that was threatening to break out of her.

She heard him calling out to her. Over and over again. His voice grew louder and louder when she didn't answer. He was worried. She took a deep breath and tried to fight down the tears. She pressed the phone to her ear again. "I'm still here. I'm sorry I think I'm having some sort of meltdown right now. Can we talk later?" Those three sentences were just about as much as she managed to get out in a comparatively normal tone of voice. Her throat tightened again as another sob wanted to force its way out.

"No, please don't hang up," his voice was soft, imploring even. She had never heard him talk to her like that. Then again she had never cried hysterically while talking to him on the phone. Why he wanted to witness her humiliation was beyond her. It meant letting him glance into the abyss of her own personal madness. She'd be surprised if that didn't make him feel like throwing in the towel on their relationship once and for all.

"This is humiliating," she said with a quivering voice. "Don't make me talk to you when I'm like this."

"Calm down, luv. You don't need to talk if you don't want to. You only need to listen," he told her with a voice so gentle it made her heart ache.

"Where are you?" she choked out.

"Missouri," he said darkly. "Miles and miles away. I'd give me right arm about now to just to hold you. This is all my fault... I'm such a world class arsehole!"

"You're not," Nina protested through her tears.

"I am too," he corrected her gently. "I've had some time to think this through on the flight over here and trust me I am a world class arsehole. No use arguing about it. You deserve better than this."

He heard her sniffle over the line. "Please, stop crying."

"I can't. Every time someone says something nice to me, I start bawling again. I can't help myself."

"Nina, darling, what am I going to do with you?" he sighed in exasperation. She had to laugh at his stupid choice of endearment, because it made her think of tea parties and clotted tea and scones. Her chuckle had something heart wrenching to it because it almost sounded like a sob.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay. I promise."

"I'm going to die of embarrassment," she managed to get out in between snivels.

"No, don't talk like that. It's bad enough I can't be there to hold you, the least I can do is stay on the phone while you're crying."

"I'm sorry about today," she told him.

"I'm sorry too," he replied. "And I'm sorry we have to do this over the phone. It doesn't feel like saying it is enough. I want to look in your eyes when I say it. I want to make it up to you. I want to... Christ! I want to kiss you, but you know what? This is all bolloxed up! I'm in some fecking hotel room I shouldn't be in and there is no chance in hell of me getting away to see you because we've got a show coming up tomorrow." She could tell he was growing more and more frustrated with the situation.

"It's okay," she told him gently. Her tears were starting to dry.

"No, it's not, but thanks for saying it. If I was less of a selfish prick, I would tell you to break the hell up with me. If we take the last 24 hours into account, one's got to admit I'm not really boyfriend material..."

"I thought you wanted to console me, not make me cry harder."

He sighed and his affection for her shone through in the way he softly said the next words: "I'm just wondering how long you are going to be able to put up with me, is all."

"I don't have to put up with you. I want to," she said softly. "Big difference."

"Nina, it's killing me to know you're crying because of me and I can't do anything about it except to say I am sorry."

"Make it up to me when you get back?"

"In three weeks?"

"Three weeks?" she repeated incredulously.

"Too long, right?" he asked.

"Yes?" she said cautiously. Something about the tone of his voice was strange.

"Maybe that's a good thing," there was a long pause during which she was asking herself whether he had gone completely crazy now.

"How is that a good thing?" she asked finally.

"Because it gives you time to think about whether you really want to have a relationship with me." She could tell by the tone of his voice that making that proposal wasn't easy for him.

"Do you really think three weeks will change anything about the way I feel for you?"

"I don't know. I hope not," he sounded unsure. "You got into this without being prepared for what it would be like. Now that you do, the only fair thing, the only decent thing to do, would be to give you some time to think about it, even though it's killing me."

His suggestion was very rational and level-headed, but something inside of her screamed not to even consider what he was proposing. Then again this situation right here sucked. If she was honest with herself, she needed him right now. She didn't need to talk to him on the phone. She needed him right here in the flesh, even if this was just some minor thing, a stupid fight in which they had both been able to beautifully showcase their respective tempers.

She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if they ever had serious problems. They had their relationship in episodes, like some stupid soap opera. She got to spend a couple of days with him and then he would be on the road again. What if something serious ever came up? What if he really needed her or she needed him? Sometimes planes were not fast enough and as much as her nerdy heart regretted it, something fancy and science-fictiony like beaming was yet to be invented.

"What's that long silence got to mean?" Stephen's voice eventually brought her back to the present.

"I'm considering your proposal..."

"Shite! I was hoping you wouldn't. I shouldn't have made it in the first place. Forget that! I should never have said anything! I always manage to banjax everything...," he seemed to be in a rather depressive mood as well if he, who was usually so cocky and full of himself, said things like that.

"Steve, stop being angry at yourself for a minute here! It's not your fault," she scolded him gently.

"You wanna tell me how this is not me fault? I must have scared the crap out of you this morning the way I was acting... I was behaving like a madman."

"I wasn't scared of you," she answered without hesitation. "I know you would never hurt me."

"Thank you," he said after a while. His voice sounded thick and she could tell just by listening to him that he was moved by her words and the trust she put in him.

"You're welcome," she said softly.

"So is this only about this morning? Because if it was, consider the air cleared," she added after a while.

"It's not just about this morning..."

"Is it me? Have I done something wrong?" she asked inevitably.

"No!" he said quickly and vehemently.

"I swear if you say the words 'it's not you, it's me' now, I'm going to rip you a new one..."

She heard him chuckle weakly over the line. "So this is you breaking up with me then…," she concluded finally.

"I don't want to break up with you."

"So why does it feel like you're doing it now?"

"Nina, darling, believe me, the last thing I want is to break up with you...," he tried to explain.

"Okay," she said.

"Do you want me to explain?" There was a certain hesitance in his voice, like he was asking himself whether he was crazy for going through with this.

"Please, by all means," was her almost mechanical reply. Her mother had been very adamant about teaching her children some manners. Unlike most people, whenever Nina was particularly overwhelmed by a situation she lapsed into politeness, almost like a defense mechanism. After all, it created a certain detachment.

"I'll be gone for the next three weeks with no chance to just hop on a plane and see you. What if something happened to you during that time?" She heard him falter; apparently even talking about that imaginary scenario was difficult for him. "What if you broke your leg? I wouldn't be able to take care of you. I would only be back when the worst would be through. You have to admit that is a pretty crappy scenario. And while I know that you're independent and you can manage on your own, the question is: Should you have to? I mean, call me old-fashioned, but sometimes a phone call just isn't enough... I've always liked to think the words 'I love you' were something absolute, like a promise. Like through thick and thin… that sorta thing."

"Well, some of us Americans must have you confused then. Certain people like to throw around that word 'love' like it's just a normal average run-of-the-mill word...," she joked, unsuccessfully trying to make an utterly depressing conversation less depressing.

"Yeah, but you're not one of those people, are you?" he asked and completely ignored her pathetic attempt at levity.

"No, I'm not."

"Me neither."

"So what now?" she finally asked.

"That's entirely up to you," he said quietly.

There was a long silence. His words started to sink in and she started to comprehend their meaning. He was granting her a way out of this, of a situation she had not been prepared for. How should she have? If someone had told her about a year ago, she would be dating a wrestling superstar she would have laughed in their faces. But right now she surely didn't feel like laughing. Actually her vision was going hazy again as her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"I love you," she told him crying again. "You know that, right?"

"I love you," he replied and there was also the slightest quiver in his voice. He let out a long breath. "So do you want to go through with this then?"

"I don't know. You haven't been all that clear on what I would be agreeing to...," she said hesitantly.

"We're talking three weeks of no contact. Three weeks in which you and I can make up our minds about whether we really want to try and make this work..."

"And after those three weeks?"

"We meet up and talk."

After his answer there was a long silence. There was nothing more to say except for the inevitable and for some reason she wanted to postpone that as long as possible. Again she started picking at the hole in her jeans. In her frustration she actually tugged rather vigorously at those threads sticking out of it. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She was frustrated with herself and this situation and what she was about to say.

"Ok, let's do this," she finally said and those few words felt like a punch in the gut. They made her stomach lurch. They ruined her evening. They ruined the next three weeks. They made her cry harder.


	21. Once It Rains

What's the worst place you can be at when you're lovesick? Want to guess? Did you say a wedding? Wow, great! You got it right on the first try.

It was Maria's wedding. The festivities were a cheerful affair. Lots of food and relatives and dancing. Nina tried to put on a brave face. Her face remained impassive throughout the ceremony, though on the inside she was dying a thousand deaths. Occasionally, she reached for her bag in which she had hidden away her pack of cigarettes and made sure they were still there for her to smoke later, because every time the words 'love' and 'I love you' were uttered she felt a desperate craving for a smoke. She only smoked when things were bad and honestly, now things were as bad as they could get for her.

She was in week two of her self-imposed Stephen-abstinence and it was even more terrible than week one, which was already saying something because she had been barely able to stomach the first week. She was suffering like a dog. Perhaps he was too. At least to her it looked like he was. Like some freaking masochist, she had watched every single episode of Raw and Smackdown. If her mind wasn't playing any tricks on her, his smiles seemed more forced nowadays and she could tell he had to make an effort to come across as the funny somewhat crazy Irishman he was to the public.

The priest started waxing on about love, eternal love, love, love, love... She and Luke were the only two people invited to Maria's wedding from work. The rest of the church's benches were occupied by the happy couple's combined relatives. People spoke Spanish, Italian and English. It felt like she was back at high school and they were reenacting the model UN as part of a school project. Her behavior was probably less than diplomatic, because as the priest started to drone on about the gift of love, she lied to Luke telling him she needed to go to the ladies and slipped out of the door to have a smoke.

Nina quietly snuck out the side entrance and lit herself a cigarette. As to be expected, the first drag tasted foul, as did the second and the third, but she was not about to be gentle with herself. For some reason she it was in the mood to punish herself. Since she wasn't used to smoking, a cough escaped her after a couple of more drags. A soft chuckle came from her right.

Nina turned her head and saw the type of boy she would have been swooning over back in high school when she was still in her Goth phase. He was around eighteen, had long black hair, was wearing a black suit, lots of black eye-liner and no tie. Round about 15 years ago, this would have been the precise moment when she would have started drooling. He did kind of look like a cheap version of that dark-haired vampire Banderas played back in a 90s movie. She had been sort of into that look back then. Now however, she found it sort of ridiculous and over the top.

"Weddings suck, right?" vampire-kid commented.

She nodded, feeling like the old loser she was. She blew out a bluish cloud of smoke.

"Breakup?" he asked.

Breakup was as close as one could get to a fitting diagnosis, so she just nodded and the kid saw it fit to comment on her misery with a pickup line. "That sucks... How come a hot chick like you...," he started.

She threw him a forbidding look. "Don't even go there, kid! You're trying to walk in some shoes which are way, and I mean way, waaahaaaay, too big for you. Literally and figuratively speaking by the way."

"So your ex is Lurch?" vampire-Banderas-wanna-be made a successful joke, which made her alternately chuckle and cough.

"No, and he's not really my ex. It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?"

"No kidding," she scoffed and extinguished the cigarette under the sole of her expensive high heel before she turned around to leave.

"I'm Giovanni," vampire-kid told her with a flirty smile.

"Well, Giovanni, get yourself together! I'm no Mrs. Robinson, kid," she told him briskly and got back inside. She discreetly slid into her seat again, just as the priest stopped talking about undying love and they had to start singing a hymn about it.

Later, at the end of dinner, when Maria's brother held a speech about eternal love, followed by her dad's ode to partnership and trust, topped up with Rodrigo's profession of love towards his new wife, she felt about ready to vomit up the delicious three-course-meal she had just enjoyed. Luke's presence that night was like a soothing balm to her suffering soul, because he was nearly as sarcastic and ironic as she was. Alcohol and cigarettes took care of the rest of the pain. She didn't exaggerate it, because she didn't want to ruin Maria's big day by getting wasted at her wedding dinner. She only drank just enough to be able to stomach all that talk about love.

On the taxi right home her nails drummed on the display of her cellphone. Minutes earlier she had received a text from her mother asking her whether she knew if something was up with her brother. Big surprise! Once it rains it pours. Doubtless Timmy hadn't told her yet that she was soon to be a grandmother.

"Mom's onto you," she texted her brother and quite predictably soon got a panicked call from him as a thanks for her efforts. Insofar as her bad mood allowed her to, she played the responsible older sister and advised him to tell their parents soon, not that he would listen to her, of course.

By the time she arrived at home her mood was so foul she headed to the kitchen and got herself a beer straight away. She switched on the computer as well, preparing herself to do some editing on her short stories. Writing always distracted her. She found her stories too cheerful anyway, so if she did some editing now, she would surely be able to tone that pesky cheerfulness down a notch.

She got out the hardcopy of her manuscript and leafed through the first two of her stories. Wait a second! What was that? She held the sheet of paper closer to her face. Someone had scribbled annotations on the border of the page with a pencil. She inspected the other pages as well. More annotations! Okay... She read them. Some of them were words of praise, others suggestions of what she could change; others still were little joking remarks that referred to the plot in general. They all had one thing in common though. They were rather helpful.

Nina suspected it was her brother's doing, after all he had gotten his filthy little mitts on the stories a couple of weeks ago, but then she read a word that was decisively not part of her brother's vocabulary. 'Rapid!' was apparently meant to be some kind of praise because it was followed by 'Good job!'... Stephen... His name resounded in her thoughts and left her feeling even more depressed.

She put the page down and got up from her desk. It was the middle of the night. Outside it was raining. The only light inside her apartment was that lamp on her desk. She ran her hands through her hair and leaned her head back, sending a disbelieving stare towards the ceiling. It was like she wanted to say "Hello, universe?! Why do you have to mock me so?"

He had given her three weeks to contemplate whether she wanted to be with him or not. It had been all she had been thinking about those past ten days. She had tried to go about this rationally, but time and time again those attempts had been foiled, because her feelings always snuck up on her and overwhelmed her. They tried to dictate a certain course of action to her and the more time passed, the more inclined she felt to listen to them. Now she truly felt like she had reached a fork in the road.

She briefly started pacing only to sit back down on the sofa after a couple of steps. The living room suddenly seemed too empty, too cold, which was probably thanks to the cool blue light that was created by the pouring rain and the slow coming of dawn. She allowed herself a few tears; because weakness was a commodity she didn't allow herself very often. How do you go about making decisions like that? Is there a rational way? She felt so lost, so alone.

It struck her as ironic that she had complained to Maria a couple of weeks ago that she wanted a partner, someone who would see her as an equal, not someone who would feel the need to coddle her every step of the way. Now despite of what Stephen had done, she couldn't shake the feeling that he had the potential to be that guy.

Partners. Partners in crime. She smirked a little as she contemplated that expression. People who trusted each other, knew each other like the back of their own hand... Well, that latter thing was where it got scary. She wasn't like those women from the movies. She didn't have a flawless figure and she was far from being a perfect ten, at least in her mind. After having lived with herself for the last thirty years, she had a clear concept of who she was and who she wasn't. But did he? After a couple of months he could hardly have any idea what he was getting himself into. Okay, maybe an inkling, but that was about it.

And there were quite a few things he still needed to learn about her. She wasn't the epitome of patient. Waiting in a line was her idea of hell on earth. And there was also the little miniscule detail that up until now, he hadn't seen her when she got broody. Sure, most of the times she was in a good mood, but she wasn't cheery 24/7. She was a major sulker. There had even been a time during her college years when she had indulged that streak of her personality by

running around dressed like Morticia Addams and writing sad little poems. That melancholy, gloomy part of her was still there. It just didn't come out to play that often anymore.

It wasn't that she was feeling inadequate really. He was after all just like her a human being. He had his flaws, too. Some of which she had already come across, others which she doubtlessly was yet to discover. What she dreaded though, was the thought of opening up to him only to discover that ultimately they didn't quite fit as well as she thought they would.

No, that wasn't even it. By this point she knew him as well as you could know someone given the circumstances. They had a lot of things in common and other things, but only a few, they didn't quite see eye to eye on, which was fine by her because she didn't like yea-sayers... The most important parallel between her and Stephen was probably their willfulness. They were two people who didn't quit, who once they committed to something, gave it their all.

Now that was where things truly got scary. Scary like a Stephen King novel. Scary like things that went bump in the night. Scary like a rollercoaster ride. Yes, that metaphor was something she could work with. Rollercoaster rides were fun. They were intense. They made your heart pound like crazy, but even if you got scared of the next climb and inevitable decent, you couldn't suddenly decide you wanted to get off the ride. You were either in it or you weren't. No halfway in-betweens. That was what exactly what their relationship was like. She was either in it a hundred percent or she wasn't. Now that her own words came back to bite her in the ass, she had to smile at the irony of it.

Actually the universe wasn't as much of a bastard as she had thought. Or perhaps it was. It had given her precisely what she had asked for and maybe that was the problem. Most of the time when you get precisely what you've asked for, you're not so sure you want it after all.

Was she ready for that kind of commitment? Did she still have the liberty to choose? Because honestly, the fact that she was still crying told her that she had already made her choice. He stirred emotions in her that she didn't think she had. He made her say things she didn't believe she would ever confess to another human being and there she was sitting alone in her living room crying her stupid heart out. She was crying because she was alone, felt alone and also because she was a coward and shouldn't have needed two more weeks to make up her mind. All that stupid crying, bitching and moaning she was doing was a bit disgusting. No wonder, what with all the rain. That truly was depressing.

She stood up and walked to the window feeling the need to verify that the town beneath her window wasn't a ghost town. There was a car driving by. At the end of the street there was a light in the window - a fellow insomniac like her. No, not alone.

_At the birth of a star or of child there is pain_. The familiar literary quote by Oscar Wilde echoed in her mind and elicited another self-ironic smirk. One of her professors at university had once talked about great poets and their capability to transform pain into something beautiful. She still remembered the metaphor he had used. The pain is like a grain of sand in a clam. The sand hurts the clam, but ultimately that pain gets transformed into something beautiful: a pearl.

She wiped the tears from her face and turned around to head back to her desk. Turn the pain into something beautiful. Maybe she could.

* * *

Even if Stephen would have been stubborn enough not to acknowledge he was distracted, there was plenty of proof. During training he hadn't paid attention and as a thank-you for that he was now the proud owner of a slightly greenish shiner around his right eye. _Thank you, life! You've made your point. _

The thing was, he didn't need any proof. Those three weeks of absolute no contact had been the worst idea of his life. He had had to stop himself countless times from dialing her number. It got especially hard not to when he was alone at the hotel at night and he had some time to think. He used it to think about her. In fact he used a lot of time thinking about her, even the time he should have used to keep a clear head, like during training for example.

He had always been a rather practical sort of guy. There were only a few things that let him get truly emotional. When his favorite football team lost a match, the occasional bout of homesickness when he thought of his family, the loss of someone dear, the sound of a cheering crowd that was urging him on through a difficult match... Admittedly the list was short and it wasn't necessarily in that order. And now he had to count missing her among those things as well. Because the feeling of missing her wasn't just a passing thought. No, it was always there. Subconsciously he touched his fingers to the bruise around his eye and flinched back. _Good luck covering that up for the next show!_

Just one more show and he would finally get on that plane to see her. It hadn't been easy finding the time for that in his tight schedule. He had signings, training sessions and interviews to take care of and only after he had done all those things, he would be able to leave. So he had called his manager and arranged for everything to be scheduled in before the match. Quite predictably he had been delighted. Well, probably just as delighted as the makeup lady would be when she would have to use half of her concealer on him to cover up that shiner for the next TV transmission.

He hated having to put on make-up, but it came with the job and with having such a fair complexion. Bruises looked more dramatic on him because he was so pale. Luckily right now his shiner wasn't the center of attention. He was doing a radio interview for some morning show in Atlanta. The host was known for his somewhat unorthodox question technique. Between asking a ton of questions about wrestling, like "How did he end up with the WWE?" or "How did you invent your special moves?" he suddenly asked one question that gave Stephen pause.

"My co-host Sophie wanted to know whether you were still single..." The, from an objective view, rather good-looking woman next to the radio host waved at him. Stephen smiled, but felt somewhat uncomfortable on the inside.

"Sorry, fella, but I don't talk about those sort of things," he said quietly into the microphone.

"Not ever?" The pouting young lady wanted to know, trying to bait him with a puppy dog look.

"Not ever," he confirmed this time without a smile.

The question would hunt him for the rest of the day. He tried to determine why it had made him feel so uncomfortable. It wasn't like he had been asked this sort of question for the first time. Usually he just waved it off with a wink and a smile and a flippant remark like a casual "Wouldn't you like to know?" So why did it make him feel uncomfortable now?

He tried to pose the question to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts and learned that he didn't have the heart to say 'yes' or 'no' at this point of time, which made him frown because he wasn't a guy to be hovering between those two alternatives. He just wasn't like that. It was always either or with him. He didn't do willy-nilly, because it was crap. It didn't suit him.

Now he had forced three weeks of indecision on himself. Why the bleeding hell had he done that? Because he wanted to grant her a way out. Did he really want to give her a way out? Was there still one? The shiner on his face told a different story. He was fed up with this fecking situation and the fact that he had finally had the balls to admit that to himself was quite something, even if it was only at the end of three-weeks of self-imposed abstinence from her.

Those three weeks would finally come to an end tomorrow, just like this fecking state of in-between and he was truly glad for it. He quickly composed a text to Nina, keeping it as impersonal as he could, because he wouldn't allow himself to be slipping now, literally hours from the finishing line. "Tomorrow, LaGuardia 8:00 pm. Are you going to be able to make it?"

Her "yes" arrived seconds later and let his heart beat faster.

* * *

Nina was getting ready to leave. It was 6 pm and she had spent the last couple of hours thinking about what to wear, what to say and in general what to do, when she stood in front of him once more. It came as a surprise to her that resolving the clothing issue was the least complicated of those questions.

Now she was dressed and heading out. She checked her handbag one last time before she pulled the door closed. Car keys, apartment keys, cellphone, wallet - everything there. She quickly exited her apartment, locked the door and took the elevator down.

She breezed through the small foyer of the apartment building that housed the mailboxes of the inhabitants. Because she was wearing heels, her steps echoed through the room. She pushed the door open, stepped outside and nearly collided with her mother.

"Mom!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" Nina was preoccupied by the look on her mother's face. She wasn't crying, but there was definitely something very forlorn about it. Her mother was tough as nails, so when she looked forlorn things were pretty bad.

"Did you know that Tim has gotten himself into trouble again?" her mom asked and confirmed her worst suspicions. She knew. This would take a while. She couldn't possibly leave her mom standing here like this. The realization of that weighed heavy on her and her shoulders slumped a little. She was already preparing herself to head back up to her apartment and call Stephen to tell him she wouldn't be able to make it, but then a thought hit her. The drive to LaGuardia was long enough for a decent conversation. Maybe she could do both. It was a crazy idea and it would eventually create some very awkward situations, but she needed to get to that damned airport. There was no way she was giving up on Stephen and her just because Timmy was too much of a chicken to grab the phone to call their mother.

"Mom...," she sighed, "can you do me a favor? I'm going to answer all your questions and tell you everything I know, but please, please I have to get in my car now..." There was a hint of desperation in her voice, which hopefully would get her mother to agree with that crazy proposal.

"Does that mean you're going to leave me standing here like this?" Her mother looked at her over the edge of her glasses. It was a well patented look that must have had her students squirming in their seats. Nina knew it rather well too, because she had been at the receiving end of precisely that look a lot when she had gotten a scolding as a child.

"Of course not! You can come with me if you want to. I've said I would answer all your questions, haven't I?" Nina's voice was tense. If her mother said 'no' now, she wouldn't insist on her getting into the car. They would head up to her apartment and have a good and long talk. "I just need to get to the airport. It's really important, okay?"

She waited with baited breath for her mother to say something. "Alright, if it's that important to you...," she eventually agreed. Nina let out a happy little scream and hugged her perplexed mother.

They quickly made their way over to Nina's car and got in. As Nina twisted the keys in the ignition and the engine sprang to life, her mother repeated her question from before. Nina could tell she was trying to keep her composure, because her voice had a very calm, almost impersonal tone to it when she talked. "Do you know anything about it, Nina? I suppose you do because you haven't even asked what kind of trouble."

Nina took a deep breath and grabbed the steering wheel a little tighter. "Yes, I know."

Without looking she knew that her mother was glaring at her now. "So how come you haven't told me? After all you'd think that a mother would like to be told about minor things like her son getting his ex-girlfriend pregnant..."

"You've got to believe me, Mom, I'm really sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. It wasn't my decision. It was Timmy's," she paused for a brief moment and risked a brief glance at her mom. She was still angry. "Maybe this will make you feel a little better. Sandra and Timmy are back together again..."

She heard a relieved sigh from her right. "That's at least something," her mother said. "I've always liked Sandra."

"I know, Mom," Nina discreetly rolled her eyes. It was no wonder her mother liked Sandra. She was from a rich family, dressed with the impeccable taste of someone like Audrey Hepburn and even carried herself with the same poise. She was a lit major, a blond-haired and beautiful little preppy goddess and if she hadn't been really nice in top of everything else, Nina would have strongly disliked her for being so vomit-inducingly perfect.

"How did you find out?" Nina asked eventually. "Has Tim finally manned up and told you?"

Her eyes briefly flitted over the road sign next to the highway. Internally she was already counting down the miles. Her fingers were ice-cold thanks to the excitement and anticipation she was feeling, but also thanks to that difficult conversation she was currently having with her mother.

"No, I had to learn from a former colleague. He saw them together on campus and noticed that Sandra was pregnant," her mother informed her in a bitter tone of voice that made it quite obvious that she was disappointed with her kids.

"Mom," Nina turned her head to fix her with her eyes for a second before she directed her attention back on the road. "It just wasn't my place, okay? I begged him over and over again to tell you, but you know what he is like..."

"Yes, I know," her mother sighed. Whenever there was a problem, Tim liked to pretend it didn't exist. Doing the same with a pregnancy was rather stupid, but it was part of Tim's character. A resigned silence halted the conversation for a while

"Where are we going anyway?" her mother asked eventually.

"LaGuardia airport," Nina said evenly. She didn't feel like explaining to her mom why, so she tried to distract her. "You and Tim should really talk to each other," she tried to get their original conversation back on track.

"Why?" her mother asked. The tone of her voice told Nina that she was suspecting there was more she wasn't telling her and indeed there was. Her mom wasn't aware Tim had dropped out of university to get himself a job.

"I can't tell you..."

"Oh, don't feed me that crap, young lady!" her mother admonished sharply.

Nina sighed. She would have to tell her now. Perhaps it was for the better. If she weighed the options, Tim would in the long run profit from this. If her mom got it all out of her system now, Tim wouldn't have to take the brunt of her anger. As an older sister that was her job. "He dropped out of university..."

That comment was enough to send her mother raving like a madwoman for the rest of the car ride. Nina tried and tried time and time again to get her to calm down, but eventually she realized that she would just have to let her talk.

They had finally arrived at the airport parking lot. With shaking hands she let go of the steering wheel. The last couple of miles her nervousness had doubled. The voice of her mother had been reduced to a background noise just like the sound of the car wheels on the road. She blew out a long breath. Her mother shot her an odd look.

"What's going on with you?" she finally asked.

"I'm okay," Nina lied.

"Are you getting someone from the airport?" her mother enquired further.

Nina's stomach felt like it would flip any second. "Yes," she decided to look at her mother instead of starring ahead through the windshield like she had done in the last hour and a half.

"Can you do me a favor and please wait in the car?"

"No, I've been sitting here for almost two hours. I need to stretch my legs." Leave it to her mom to be stubborn and impossible. Well, at least now she wouldn't have to ask herself anymore were she had gotten her own stubbornness from.

Nina rolled her eyes again, only this time not as discreetly as before. It had been difficult enough having that long conversation about Tim with her on the car ride here, while the other half of her brain had constantly been busy thinking of Steve.

"Stop right there, young lady! Have you just rolled your eyes at me?" her mother called after her and she could hear the telltale sound of her heels clacking on the ground as she followed her towards the entrance of the airport.

They quickly made their way over to arrivals. Her mother's nagging voice was a constant hum in her ears. Nina had fallen silent and simply had let it wash over her. It wasn't that important anymore. Her eyes were transfixed with that door a few feet away through which the passengers of flight AA1239 from Atlanta would walk any second now.

It opened. People started pouring through. "Wait here!" she implored her mother and she walked towards the end of that railing.


	22. Stephen and the Dragon

**Author's note:** _Thank you so much, UntilNeverDawns, for your help with this story! Fastest and best beta ever!_

_ ThatGirl54: Sorry, for the cliffhanger. That's a bad habit I need to quit, but I do need to find a way to keep you guys hooked 22 chapters in, right? Her mother is even going to turn out much more of a treat, just you wait..._

_ Bharm: You're wish is my command, dear. _:-)_ Heaps and heaps of Stephen/Nina time coming up! _

* * *

She stopped walking, stood on the balls of her feet and looked around. She finally spotted him among the arriving travelers. Their eyes met across the sea of people. He looked very handsome. Grey pants, grey vest, underneath it a white shirt, rolled up sleeves, matching grey flat cap. In fact he looked more handsome than he had any right to be. Seeing him did something funny to her. She felt some pull, right there in the area underneath her rib cage. It was a strange kind of longing, like homesickness, almost a physical ache. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as he walked towards her. He stopped mere inches from her. The tips of their shoes were almost touching. She briefly risked a glance down: it looked like those shiny Oxford shoes were having some sort of rendezvous with her black high heels.

When she looked up, she saw directly into his blue eyes that were so familiar, it almost took her breath away. The artificial light from above made him seem paler than he actually was, but she didn't mind that. Actually it was something that made her smile on the inside.

"Hi!" he said softly, almost sounding like he was afraid he'd scare her away if he raised his voice too much. She could have opted for a 'hi' as well, but she couldn't. Her voice failed her, so she just snapped her mouth shut.

She reached out her hand as if to touch him. It was ice cold and trembling ever so slightly. She stopped herself mid-movement. What if he didn't want that? What if his feeling for her had changed in the last couple of weeks and a simple touch was invasion of his privacy he didn't approve of? Her thoughts came to stuttering halt when his hand wrapped around hers and he placed his other one over it as well. They felt warm, rough and were so much bigger than her own hands, which almost seemed to disappear between them.

His touch was like a wake-up call. It made her snap out of her daze and reminded her that this was real. That he was really here now and this was really happening.

A smile broke out on her face. "Hi!" she said softly. Her mind was clear enough now for her senses to do their work in a more reliable fashion. She noticed the already fading, slightly yellowish bruise around his right eye and instinctively reached out to touch his skin. He flinched ever so slightly as her cool fingertips connected with the sensitive area around his eye.

"What happened?" she asked. Her voice carried some of the concern she was harboring and as if that wasn't enough, he could see it clearly written on her face. You couldn't fake that level of concern. It ran deeper than just a polite enquiry for his health, she was frowning like she was trying to think of ways to make it better and make his pain go away. Right now, this very instant.

"It's nothing," he said gently. "Just a little bruise."

"It hurts, so it's not nothing. Stop saying stuff like that. You can feed that crap to someone else. Someone who cares less." She was getting angry at him, mostly at his evidently lacking sense of self-preservation. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign, any kind of indication that he got what his being hurt meant to her. Nothing. She continued. "I'm sorry if this is uncalled for…," she was biting her bottom lip, apparently trying to keep in the words that were on the tip of her tongue. She lost the battle. "Actually, scratch that! I'm not sorry. I care. I care a lot. And if that bothers you, well than you'll just have to deal with it." His eyes inevitably landed on her. It felt like he finally understood, because they widened ever so slightly. Or maybe that was just because her bossiness was irritating him.

"It's a shiner," he said matter-of-factly. "Not the end of the world."

"Of course it's not the end of the world. I know that." She was irritated. It was obvious. But it was unclear whom her anger was directed against. Him? Herself? The situation? His job?

"Okay...," he said slowly, cautiously.

"Just forget I've ever said anything. That comment was out of line. I have no right…," she looked at the shiny airport floor in embarrassment.

"No, please. You do. Tell me…," he said softly.

She looked up at him and got lost in his eyes. People were zipping past them, paying them no heed - just as little as they paid attention to them. They were only focused on each other.

"Forget it. It was silly. I mean look at you, you're this big tree of a man. Naturally you can take care of yourself. You don't need me. Just think how ridiculous it would be if I jumped into the ring and tried to beat up Big Show for you… Completely ridiculous." She scoffed. "But sometimes, just sometimes I wish I could protect you, you know?" She downcast her eyes. "Mmmmh, I guess that sounds pretty silly, doesn't it?"

"Heavens, Nina, it's not silly. It's one of the nicest things someone's ever said to me," he said, smiling at her. The last remains of his hesitance melted away. He could no longer keep himself from doing it. He pulled her against his chest and hugged her.

She let out a deep sigh and gave up all resistance as well. He felt her wrap her arms tightly around him. He actually lifted her off her feet. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck. One of his hands stroked the back of her head. They clung to each other tightly, unwilling to let go of each other in the next foreseeable future. "I missed you, Little Miss Sledgehammer." He had not used that endearment ever since right after the first time they had kissed and it catapulted her right back to that day.

The memories flooded her mind and they seemed more real for some reason now that he was here. Would it ever be that way again? So easy, so uncomplicated like in the early days? Maybe it could. She wanted to laugh it off, but she surprised herself when instead of a chuckle, a little sob escaped her mouth. "I missed you too," she answered with a quivering voice. Upon hearing the tears in her voice, he felt the need to let go of her, probably to comfort her, but she wouldn't allow it. Even though she was standing on her own two feet again, because he had set her down, she slung her arms a little more tightly around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Please, don't tell me you've changed your mind..."

"I haven't," he told her and she heard him clear his throat after those words. His own voice was heavy with emotions. "Have you?" She pulled back a little to look at his face.

"No," she said simply. His face was slightly flushed and she could see that his eyes were shining, probably thanks to the excessive air conditioning that was characteristic of airports. Couldn't be anything else, right?

The word "softie" was hovering to the forefront of her mind, but now was not the time to tease him. "I've really had a horrible time the last three weeks, you know," she said softly.

He smiled a genuine smile. One that reach his eyes, unlike the ones she had seen on TV those past weeks. "Not as bad as mine."

"Just as bad probably," she amended.

"You've lost weight," he observed and the way he said it, his voice laced with concern and affection, made it clear that he didn't approve.

"You've got a shiner," she replied softly. It was a befitting retort, but lacking any sting. Instead it had a rather tender ring to it.

"True," he smiled.

There was something in that smile that made her want to be closer to him. She stood on the balls of her feet. Her fingers caressed the side of his face. She brushed her knuckles over his rough beard. "I'm only going to say this once," their eyes met and she felt a sudden bolt of excitement rush through her, "I've been a broody, insufferable mess the last couple of weeks."

That smile again, now very up close and personal. "Oh, really? Correct me if I'm being too optimistic here, but does that mean you still want to be with me?"

"Steve," she sighed in exasperation. "Do you honestly still need to ask? Cause I'd be disappointed to find out your skull's actually that thick..."

They were slowly approaching normalcy again. Their banter was getting back on track and maybe their relationship would follow suit. Right now things were certainly looking up.

"No," he grinned. "But it still would be kind of nice to hear it, though...," there was that teasing sparkle in his eyes again that she loved so much. Her heart melted a little at the sight of it. She was relieved. Actually it was very well possible that she had never been quite that relieved before in her life. And it was probably because of that heavy burden having been lifted off her shoulders that she suddenly felt inspired to pour her heart out to him.

"Fine," she replied, looking down for a moment before she raised her gaze to meet his again. "You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About you and me and life in general..."

"Interesting," he quipped. "Wanna share your thoughts with me?"

"Yeah… Well, how do I put this best?" she chewed her bottom lip pensively, trying to conjure the right words in her mind.

Her next question came out sort of random, but since he knew that she would eventually make her point, he was willing to bear with her. "Do you ever stop to think about the difference between black and white photos and the ones in color?"

Huh? Where the hell was she going to go with that analogy? He chuckled and incredulously shook his head.

"So does that mean you haven't? Is that a 'no' then?" she asked and he nodded with an indulgent smile on his lips. "I do have a point here, okay?" Nina informed him sort of gruffly.

"I hoped as much," he told her with a grin on his face. "Maybe you want to get to it then, because I sort of have a difficult time following that analogy of yours…"

"All right. All right," she made an appeasing gesture with her hands. "Maybe on hindsight that metaphor with the photographs really sucks, but now I guess I have to go through with it."

"You might as well." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm curious, am I color photography, or what?" He stroked his beard, his eyes sparkling briefly in amusement under the artificial light.

"Yes?" she asked timidly. She took another deep breath, willing herself to struggle through the by now embarrassing metaphor. "Well, can you imagine anyone wanting to go back to plain old silly black and white photographs after color came around? I can't," she licked her lips nervously. She was getting close to making her point now. "I suppose you could say before you came along my life could best be described like one of those black and white pictures, sort of nice, orderly and a bit boring. The thing is, sort of nice doesn't cut it anymore..."

"Despite the awful analogy I think I get what you mean," he smiled, apparently ready to put her out of her misery.

"Do you?" she asked genuinely surprised, inclining her head to the side while she shot him a skeptical look. Not even she herself was sure she got the point that she had wanted to make.

He nodded. His next words seemed abrupt and random as well, like he was taking a page out of her book, but they really weren't as random as they appeared at first. "Did you know that ever since I came to America, it's been nearly six years by the way, I've almost travelled non-stop?" She shook her head mechanically, unable to tell where he was going with this.

He paused, preparing himself to admit something out loud he wouldn't usually have told any other living soul, because he didn't like to wear his heart on the sleeve like that.

"This job makes you turn into a nomad. And while travelling is nice and has its perks, cities get interchangeable, all those airports look the same after a while... You start to realize that you don't really have a home and begin to think about what home really is. Home isn't a hotel room or an empty house. But home can be a certain person...," he told her and looked at her, trying to convey the gravity of his admission by the way his eyes were intently fixed on her face.

"Yes, I suppose," she answered and cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice from getting too thick with emotions. "You know as a writer I kind of appreciate subtleties, even though as we previously established, I'm not very good at them. So I need you to actually spell things out for me this time. Because we have to say those things to each other now. It not like we can afford to sneak around them anymore. This is it..."

"Right," he looked down at the tips of his shoes and then back at her face again. This conversation right here cost him more courage than any fight he had fought in the ring. His opponents would usually just dish out pain. When they spotted a weakness they capitalized on it, so it was a bad idea showing any weakness in general. This little lady right in front of him wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than honesty. While honesty was at times a weapon that could be wielded to inflict damage, right now by being honest he only made himself more vulnerable. It required him to go against his instincts and everything that he had learned in the last couple of years. Still, he pushed himself to say the next words, because what was worse than being potentially hurt was letting a moment like that pass you by out of cowardice.

"The fact that I think of you as my home... well, I like to think that it means we belong together or we are meant to be or whatever the feck it is you're supposed to say when you love someone that much. But maybe I'm flattering meself here. Maybe you don't feel the same way." He had just revealed his most private thoughts to her. There was a shyness and vulnerability in his eyes he rarely let anyone see. The last time he had let anyone see that side of him, was back as a child. Years of being bullied had forced it into hiding from the rest of the world. Up until now.

"I do feel the same way," her voice was soft and heavy with emotions. How could he doubt that she did? She took a step closer, trying to communicate how serious she was about this by just looking at him.

His left hand came to rest against her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin. The gesture was almost reverent, like he was touching a china doll. It made her heart ache.

"So we're going to find a way to make this work?" she asked.

"Yes, because I would be a fool to ever let you go again," he answered. He leaned down to kiss her, feeling hopeful for the very first time in three weeks. There was passion in that kiss, but it was on the back burner in favor of those more tender emotions that were more dominant right now. The pressure of his warm lips against hers made her melt into him, forget everything around them. The airport, the people breezing past them, everything... It made her wish this kiss would never end.

Apparently he shared that sentiment. Eventually and very reluctantly he broke away from her after a while because he had the intense feeling of being watched by a pair of very disapproving eyes. He had developed a sixth sense for that over the years. After all a bit of paranoia had been part of the job description back when he had worked as a bodyguard. He flinched as he met the hateful stare of a well-dressed woman in her late fifties. She had glasses on her nose. Her arms were crossed over her chest and there was something about her face, especially the cheek bones and nose that reminded him a lot of Nina. Contrary to Nina, however, who was bubbly and talkative, she seemed to be a very sullen sort of person. The deep lines at the corners of her mouth showed that she was more prone to seriousness than any other emotion. He looked between Nina and the woman a couple of times and a dreadful sense of foreboding came over him.

"Please tell me that woman over there, bearing a striking resemblance to you and staring daggers at me with her eyes, isn't your ma'," he discretely took a step away from her and straightened his vest.

Nina smiled sheepishly. "I had to make a choice. Either bring her along or don't come at all."

"That still doesn't explain why the bleeding hells," he quickly lowered his voice that was threatening to become loud and booming in his outrage, "you saw it fit to bring your ma' here!"

"Cause she's just found out about Timmy's sweet little secret and needed someone to vent to," she explained to him as he picked up his bag. He grimaced as he took in the full extent of her words. Not only was her mother probably royally pissed off right now, but he was already up to a bad start with her as well. In his experience mothers didn't take to kindly to their daughters being kissed senseless right in front of them by a complete stranger. Given the fact that he just committed himself to the long-haul with said daughter, it would be a good idea to try and swing things in his favor. Years and years under that disapproving glance didn't sound like something one should aspire to.

He rolled his shoulders just like he usually did before he headed onto stage and took a deep breath. "Let's go in then. I'm gonna turn up all me charms and try to sweep your mother dearest of her feet."

"Sound plan. Good luck with that, sweetie," she said ironically and a lot of that irony was dripping of that term of endearment.

He shot her a reproachful look, but nevertheless took her hand in his. They both plastered fake grins on their faces as they approached Nina's mother.

"So that's the young man you wanted to get from the airport. You seem to be quite... well acquainted with each other," her mother summed up the situation as they approached. More disapproval was sent their way in the form of dark glances thrown at them over the edge of some horn-framed glasses.

"Well, he's my boyfriend, so it kind of comes with the package," Nina said nonchalantly.

"This boyfriend of yours, does he have a name?" Mrs. Stewart inquired sharply.

Stephen seemed to come out of his trance at that question. He was used to the occasional 'boo' from the audience, but that woman's stern and very disapproving expression somehow managed to get under his usually very thick skin and made him feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Stewart. My name is Stephen Farrelly," he held out his hand to her and for a second he was afraid her mother wouldn't take it, the way she wrinkled her nose at it with an air of superiority.

"You're Irish," she remarked as she finally clasped his hand and shook it, placing his accent correctly the first time she heard it.

"Yes, I'm afraid you've got me there, ma'am," he smiled sheepishly as if she had surprised him with his fingers in the cookie jar. That smile usually charmed people, but seemed to have no effect whatsoever on Nina's mother. Mrs. Stewart retracted her hand and assumed her defensive posture from before, crossing her arms over her chest once more.

"So since when has this been going on? You kids seem to be determined not to tell me anything anymore these days...," her mouth was set in a sour, thin line as she regarded her daughter expectantly.

Nina narrowed her eyes in concentration as she tried to calculate the time in her head. "Three months?" she supplied, while Stephen said "Five months" almost simultaneously.

"Why...?" she looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face. Five months? They had met roughly five months ago. Oh! She smiled at him. Was he really trying to tell her it had been love at first sight for him. Seriously? She grinned a teasing smile at him. This time she did say it. "You big softie!"

"Oi! Be quiet. Now is not the time," he muttered softly. He was right. Her mother watched their exchange and shook her head.

"So what is it you do for a living, Mr. Farrelly?" her mother asked, getting straight to the heart of the matter.

"I'm in sports entertainment as well," he said, instinctively sensing for some reason that it wasn't a good idea telling her straight away that he was a professional wrestler. He hoped that vague explanation he had given her would be sufficient for the time being.

Regretfully it wasn't. Mrs. Stewart narrowed her eyes. That woman was one tough nut to crack. "So you are a writer like Nina?"

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid my work with the WWE is not quite as... creative," he shifted on his feet uncomfortably, which had Nina feel the urge to jump to his defense.

"Mom, would you please stop it? This is not a police questioning," she gave her mother a sour look. "You're making Steve feel uncomfortable."

Her mother let out a contemptuous laugh. "I doubt I can intimidate a six foot man enough to feel uncomfortable, honey. It would be pretty unfortunate if that was all it took. After all I was just asking him about his job. Might I add that I still haven't gotten a proper answer to my question?"

Nina turned her head and saw Stephen's nostrils quiver ever so slightly at the next exhale. There was a slight flush rising from underneath the collar of his shirt. He was angry, but he hid that anger rather well behind a charming but artificial smile when he spoke his next words. "I'm sorry I haven't been clear enough before. I'm a wrestler with the WWE."

Her mother made no secret out of the fact that she wasn't particularly delighted by that piece of information and frowned. "So you get paid for beating up other people on a weekly basis like a modern day gladiator? People's addiction to violence is always quite puzzling to me..."

Nina took some preemptive measures and laid a calming hand on Stephen's bicep. The muscle underneath her hand twitched and tensed. She could see his fingers curl into a fist and his eyes flash in anger. Again he surprised her with his ability to keep his temper in check.

"I'm aware it's a job that isn't comparable to that of a scientist or a doctor. We're only entertaining people, not curing cancer or saving lives. But still... This job is about sportsmanship, discipline and hard work, which might not be the worst message to send to a young person. And there's also the fact that it gives me the possibility to support some charities with the money I earn, while I spend me days giving people bread and circuses."

Nina looked at Stephen with a proud smirk on her face. He had not only told off her mother, he had done it rather eloquently. She gave his arm a brief squeeze and he looked at her. There was something imploring to that look which seemed to say 'Help me, please or I'm going to kill her!' She smiled a bitter little smile. Her mother did have that effect on a lot of people. Her students had dubbed her the Ice Queen back when she was still lecturing.

"Why don't we head back to my car?" Nina suggested. "I'm sure you need to get back to Hartford, Mom."

Her mother looked at her watch pointedly. "It's eight right now. By the time we reach Stamford it will be ten. Am I really supposed to spend another two hours on the road after we get there? I think I'd rather stay at your place tonight."

"Fine," Nina said to her mother, hiding her wish to strangle her behind a seemingly sweet smile. They started walking and Nina felt Stephen pull at her hand, so they walked a couple of steps ahead of her mother.

He laid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side. "Get her away from me or I'm going to do the Irish Curse on her!" he whispered in her ear.

"Just the Irish Curse? Why not go for the White Noise?" she answered in an equally low voice.

She heard him chuckle softly in response. "I'm afraid I don't have enough finishers in my repertoire for her."

"You leave that to me. I have thirty years of experience in dealing with her..."

"That's me girl," he smirked and continued their hushed conversation. "Next thing she's going to say is that I should sleep at a hotel. Just you wait."

They reached Nina's car and Steve quickly stuffed his bag in the trunk before he rounded the car to hold the door open for Mrs. Stewart, who thanked him for his chivalrous gesture with a tight little smile. He got in as well and Mrs. Stewart registered the fact that he had to push back the passenger seat all the way with something akin to contempt.

"Fasten your seatbelts. We're leaving," Nina told her mother, looking over her shoulder with a smile. Despite her mother's less than polite behavior towards Stephen, she felt happier than she ever had in the last couple of weeks. She threw the man next to her a smile which he reciprocated with one of his own that made her heart beat faster.

"By the way, who gave you that shiner, Steve?" she asked conversationally, while she drove off the parking lot. "You didn't have it yet last Friday night."

"You've been watching?" he asked in surprise.

"Of course, I have. Remember? I haven't seen that much of you in the last couple of weeks, à chroí."

He turned his head and looked at her in surprise upon hearing her pick up one of those Gaelic terms of endearment he had used on her a couple of times. There was a playful smirk on her face.

"Lovely thought of you picking up some Gaelic, darling," he told her gently. The presence of her mother forced him to limit himself to that rather short response, when in reality he would have liked to shower her in Gaelic terms of endearment and teach her how to say them as well. The presence of that very charming and affectionate woman on the backseat, however, threw a spanner in that particular plan.

"What does it mean?" Mrs. Stewart immediately piped in from the backseat.

"Oh, nothing really. You don't need to know," Nina told her throwing a reproachful glance at her through the rear-view mirror.

All three occupants of the car fell silent for a while. The silence was awkward. Nina and Stephen had a lot to say to each other but couldn't, not in front of her mother and neither of them felt like talking to the ever disapproving person in the backseat.

"Mind if we listen to some music?" Stephen suggested eventually and turned on the radio. It was going to be a long car ride.

* * *

The sleeping arrangements in Nina's apartment were subject to a lively discussion. Stephen kept mostly out of it. There was Nina's bed, which had enough room for two people and there was her pull-out couch, which was comfortable enough for QUOTE a princess UNQUOTE. The negotiations took off with Mrs. Stewart suggesting that he should sleep on the couch while she would sleep in Nina's bed. He had readily agreed to that, because he had already realized that if he added his own headstrongness to the headstrongness of those two women utter mayhem would ensue. Nina was less diplomatic about the issue, which was surprising because usually among the two of them she was the one who usually took it upon herself to diffuse critical situations. Now, however, she simply shook her head and explained to her mother that she would be sleeping on the couch too if that was where Stephen would be passing the night. So the negotiations started anew and quite surprisingly by the end of them he ended up in Nina's bedroom, while her mother begrudgingly agreed to take the couch.

"Night, Mom!" Nina called out to the living room and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it with a sigh.

"What's the title of that movie where that little Viking lad meets a dragon? Wasn't it something like _'How to Tame a Dragon'_?" he told her with a smirk.

"It's _'How to Train a Dragon'_," she corrected him gently.

"Close enough. As long as it has dragons. 'Cause that the general theme of tonight..."

"Have you just compared my mother to a dragon?" she asked him with a skeptically raised eyebrow and a smile on her face.

"Me? I'd never...," he grinned, ever as cheeky as she remembered him.

"Relax," she grinned. "She's been called worse during her time at university... Her students used to call her the 'Wicked Witch of Hartford' and the 'Ice Queen."

"Really?" he asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"Really," she nodded in confirmation. "I'm sorry you got to see that side of her. I just hope I haven't angered her even more."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much. Someone with those sort of nicknames can take a bit of gentle coaxing from her daughter," he told her and leaned forward to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Coaxing?" she smiled. "More like full-on manipulation."

"I don't care how we got here. What counts is that we're finally alone...," he told her with a sincere timbre in his voice. Almost instinctually his arms encircled her midriff and pulled her closer to him.

"Yeah, finally alone," she said and did something she had wanted to do for the last two hours. She kissed him. It wasn't a kiss for the public eye. It was passionate and thorough. Her mouth opened slowly as she deepened the kiss, which was pure provocation. She was nipping at his lips, brushing her tongue against them. He backed her further into the door. He wanted to be closer to her. They were pressed up against each other and it was just barely enough for now. His hands disappeared underneath her shirt and she arched into his touch. He felt his body react to that enthusiasm of hers immediately.

He tried to control himself, because if he didn't do that now, things were bound to get out of hand. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. It had been a close call. He couldn't just take her right here against the door with her mother sleeping on the other side of it. There was no way they would be able to keep it down after having spent so much time apart.

She too seemed to be aware that right now they were in no position to give in to what their bodies demanded they should do. "Sorry, I got carried away," she said sheepishly. Her voice was rather breathless as well. "It's just that it's been a long time since we've last..."

"No kidding. A thrice damned eternity," he grinned. "But I thought the modern woman of today had a vibrator to take care of those needs. Didn't you tell something like that to McMahon?"

She giggled at his crude remark and swatted him on the arm. "Nowadays I prefer the real deal," she told him in a conspiratorial tone of voice.

"Oh, you do? Well, kick your ma' to the curb and we'll talk," he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "That woman's a right banshee anyway..."

"First you call her a dragon, now a banshee? Steve...," she grinned at him and he just shrugged his shoulders, feigning innocence. "Kick her to the curb? You're not serious, right?" In fact she knew he wasn't. He had always made the impression of being quite close to his own family, so as a consequence she concluded that his appreciation of family values even extended to the dysfunctional Stewart clan.

"You know I can't kick her out," she continued. "She's just found out Timmy has been keeping Sandra's pregnancy from her for weeks. Give her a break. She's had a very rough day."

"What about me? I've had a rough three weeks," he pouted.

"Poor little thing, you," she cooed and actually patted his hair, messing it up a bit in the process.

"Yeah, I'm a mistreated minority," he hoisted her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed where he laid her down gently and immediately followed behind.

She welcomed him with open arms and hugged him to her for what it was worth. He let out a groan.

"Oooh, that feels good! Now can we try again with fewer clothes?"

Nina rewarded his last words with a slap to his upper arm. "Behave, you brute or I'm going to kick YOU to the curb!"

"Again with the violence and the abuse. You never learn, do you?" he laughed and pinned her to the bed underneath him.

He looked down at her and the expression on her face was everything he could have wished for. It was open, serene and showed him that she was genuinely unafraid, even though she was completely at his mercy now. Actually, if he was honest, it felt like it was the other way around most of the time.

"I love you," he told her, because there was nothing else left to say at this point.

She smiled. "Tá grá agam duit," she said back and his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"The Internet is a rather helpful place sometimes, especially when you're lovesick and keep thinking about a certain handsome red-haired devil," she grinned.

"Tá grá agam duit,"" he replied softly.

"So you're breaking out the Gaelic now to melt me into a puddle without any willpower whatsoever? Clever move, Farrelly," she teased him and pushed a little against his hands holding her wrists. He let go of them and she gave his chest a gentle shove. He rolled over and she immediately grasped the opportunity to reverse their positions.

"Actually it was you who started it," he pointed out shrewdly.

"Hmmm, okay," she amended as she gazed down on his face. He possessed a certain boyish charm when he grinned like that. His hair was a darker red now, freshly dyed. She ran her fingers through it. Her mood suddenly took a turn towards pensive.

"So how is this going to work? You know that it's not enough to be crazy about each other," she looked at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. "What are your expectations? What do you want?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? I mean it's a nice change and all, being asked what I want. It rarely happens to me anymore. Usually I'm being told where to go, what to say...," he said, half in jest, half in earnest. "Give me a second here, luv..." In his experience one needed to carefully weigh one's words when talking to a woman about those sort of things.

"Well, until you have made up your mind, you can ask me the same question right back, if you want to." She let go of his wrists and sat up straight. He scooted up against the headboard of her bed, so they were on eye level again.

"Alright," he said. The next words were easy. Already formulated and nicely laid out for him to say. Much easier than the answer to the question he was about to pose. "So what are your expectations for the future concerning this?" he motioned with his hand between the two of them.

"THIS sounds a bit strange, don't you think?" she pointed out. Leave it to her to be picky about the wording of something.

"Well, our relationship. There you made me say it. It sounded all kinds of neutral and detached. Like it wasn't the right word."

"So what's the right word then?" she asked, regarding him interestedly with her head inclined to the left.

"Something less detached and very much heartfelt," he answered, which made her smile. "So you wanna talk or should I?"

"Just give me a second here," she told him. He noticed that she was picking at her nails again. She was nervous. Obviously she had given this subject a lot of thought. She finally started talking. "You know what feels strange about this? This relationship's like a TV show. We're having it in episodes. A couple of days here, a couple of days there. And while it feels like I've known you for a very long time, we've only met five months ago... Isn't that strange? Doesn't that strike you as... well, odd?" She looked at him expectantly and he finally nodded after a while.

"Strange, but good, right?" he asked finally not able to keep a certain insecurity out of his voice.

"Yes, it's good that it feels like there is some connection between us, but it's not that good that I don't get to see you as often as I should, being your girlfriend and all...," her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence. She wasn't sure it was the right thing to say. Maybe he'd think she was nagging him or that she had no right to say things like that.

"I know that we don't see a lot of each other and I'm sorry about that, but I don't think we can change anything about that at present, if that's what you're trying to say," he said carefully.

"That sucks, but that's not really the point," she said. She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her hair, trying to come up with a good way to say what she wanted to say when probably there was none. "Okay...," she started, "we both know each other as well as you can know someone given the circumstances, but the time we've spent together is hardly enough to be able to tell how'd we work out as a couple if we were together for a longer period of time. Maybe we'd do fine, maybe we'd argue all the time. I don't know. Do you?"

"No, I've got to admit I've been thinking about that too," he said in a somewhat exhausted tone of voice. This was a difficult issue to resolve. Perhaps it couldn't be resolved at all, because it was not like he could run away with her. He had certain obligations to fulfill. Obligations written down in black and white and signed by yours truly. But that didn't mean he hadn't thought of grabbing her and riding off into the sunset. Yes, he definitely had. Right now, however, that was only a daydream.

"Hello, you still with me?" She waved her hand in front of his face.

"Yeah," he answered, blinking a couple of times as if waking from a daze.

"Very reassuring. I talk about not getting to spend enough time with you and you zone out. If you're thinking about throwing in the towel on us, I'll have you know that that's not an option," she nudged him in the side. His pensive face brightened a bit at her words. After all they were sort of reassuring.

"I wasn't thinking about quitting on you. Actually the opposite, but what if we can't make it work?" he told her truthfully. "I've already had a couple of relationships fail because of the life I lead."

Nina narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not liking him mentioning those other relationships. "But you haven't tried with me," she told him sternly. "I'm stubborn as hell and I'm no quitter. Plus, I have most weekends off and I have absolutely no problem with getting a whole lot of those frequent flier miles under my belt."

"That's great, luv, but I don't want you to pay for all those tickets... You'll spend a fortune on silly old me."

"I'm not sure how they deal with blind passengers on a plane. In _Pirates of the Caribbean_ they had to walk the plank. Do you think they'll give me a parachute?" She made a face and stuck out his tongue at him, clearly playing dense intentionally.

For once, although the temptation was great, he ignored her silliness in favor of having an adult conversation. "I was going to offer to pay for them... It doesn't seem fair to let you do it, seeing as I rarely get any time off. But that doesn't mean you always have to be the one to hop on a plane. I'll try to visit whenever I can," he told her.

"Relax. It's not like I don't know that," she threw him a smile. "Despite you constantly trying to tell me you're not a nice guy, you're actually quite possibly one of the nicest people I've met."

"Clearly I haven't been around a lot of people then," he shot right back, briefly looking down, a last trace of some long since shed shyness shining through in his behavior.

"As for that long time exposure...," he started. She laughed at his way of putting it and he smiled back at her, "What? Don't laugh, this is serious."

"Long time exposure? You're not a toxin or a flu bug. It's not like I've caught 'the Stephen'. Be a little nicer to yourself," she lightly punched him in the upper arm. "I love spending time with you."

"I do too and that's why I thought about a way we could spend a little bit more time together..."

"Such as?"

"Have you already taken your holiday?" She shook her head. "How much time do you get?"

"Two weeks," she replied softly. "And no."

"If you want to, you can come and spend those two weeks on the road with me. But I'm warning you, most of the guys' wives keep complaining that it's horrible touring with us. It's not the most glamorous sort of life..."

"Oh, really! Do tell! I was expecting caviar and champagne and a bed of roses," she rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying...," he raised his hands defensively.

"Steve," she sighed, "you're not really encouraging. It's almost like you're telling me I should give up right away without even trying... Do you want that?"

"No, no, of course not," he even jumped to his feet in agitation. He ran his hands through his hair, looking at her like he was conflicted about something. He eventually shook his head and muttered: "Ah, the hell with it! I'm going to say it!" He spoke the next words in a louder voice: "The thing is that I am completely arse over kick for you. I might not show it all the time, because I constantly tease you and make jokes, but I really am. This here I got because I wasn't paying attention during training," he pointed at the bruise around his eye. "It has never happened to me. Never. Period. I was thinking of you when Damian planted his big ol' fist in me eye... That's how much I want this. And the thing I'm most afraid of is that you might change your mind or that you might stop looking at me the way you do now..."

"Does 'arse over kick' mean the same as 'head over heels'?" she asked softly. He nodded.

"Come on. Sit down again," she told him and patted the place on the mattress next to her. He followed her invitation after a brief moment of hesitation. "You might not have noticed, because of your thick skull," he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless smiled at her words, "but I kind of feel the same for you. That's why we're having this conversation after all. Yes, we're putting our hearts on the line and it's risky, but that the whole point of it, isn't it? Love isn't love without a little suffering. And I definitely know it's love because I've done a fair share of suffering in the last couple weeks," she told him.

He just pointed at his shiner wordlessly. "Yeah, I know. Case and point." She sighed and leaned forward. Her lips touched the bruised skin in a featherlike kiss. "Better now?"

He grinned. "Maybe a wee little bit."

She gave him an exasperate look, but her exasperation faded the longer she looked at his face. Eventually she shook her head. "I think we're only fooling ourselves now if we think we can still go about this rationally and take some precautions against eventual heartbreak. We're already in too deep. No way to turn back now, so let's do this properly and not ruin it by being afraid of what might happen."

"Are you afraid?"

"Aren't you?" she asked back, aware that she was probably not going to get a straight answer out of him. He was not the sort of guy to admit he was afraid of anything. Again he surprised her.

"I am, but what scares me more than anything is the prospect of those three weeks without you turning into a much longer period without you…"

"Not gonna happen." She rewarded his frankness with a kiss and he responded eagerly. They sank down to the mattress, her on top of him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, unwilling to let her go.

"Careful, lass, I'm starting to think you're rather fond of me," he told her with a smile after their kiss had ended.

"Fond? Honey, I could eat you all up," she grinned.

He laughed and followed up that laughter with that slightly maniacal smile of his. "So we're going to do the stupid thing and just throw ourselves in without holding back? Grand! I like your way of thinking. I'm completely game, luv."

"Yes, and please try not to call it stupid," she told him half-serious, half-joking. "People used to call it passion. You're just calling it stupid because you're old and jaded and basically not eighteen anymore."

He actually laughed at her comment. "You might not like me pointing this out to you, but you're not exactly eighteen anymore yourself..."

"Are you calling me old? Might I point out that you've got 4 years on me? And again with the teasing! If you wouldn't be teasing me all the time, what would you do, huh?" Her eyes had that nice, inviting sparkle to them that always encouraged him to tease her right back.

"Ah, you don't wanna know!" he waved her off with a grin and sat up. "Braid daisies into your hair and sing you some little ditties about love? A bunch of manly stuff basically."

She giggled in amusement. He had never heard her make such a sound, but it was rather cute. He wouldn't tell her though, mind you, she'd kill him straight away if he said that to her face.

"So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about the easy stuff." Stephen rubbed his hands together. "Kids? Marriage? White picket fence?" he grinned at her.


	23. Love and Marriage

**Author's note**: _Thanks to all those marvellous people who have favourited and followed this story! And of course a huge 'thank-you' goes to those who simply enjoy reading it as well. _

_ ThatGirl54: Nina's mother is going to continue being an issue. I wanted to let Stephen get off easy, but then I changed my mind... He can take it. _;-)

_ Bharm: Momma Stewart is the Ice Queen of Hartford. Brightening up is not in her repertoire, but she does love her daughter..._

_ xthefirestillburns: Thanks for reviewing. I love "Luck of the Irish". One of the best collection of Sheamus-stories I have come across so far. Well-written and intense. Thanks for putting those out there and encouraging people to take part in the contest._

* * *

His smile fell when he took in her serious facial expression. He had wanted to get this particular part of the conversation started by cracking a joke; unfortunately the topic seemed to have a rather sobering effect on her. If that hadn't been made clear to him by a look at her face, her words certainly drove that realization home.

"Having children is a big step and I've spent a lot of time thinking about it," she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. Being thirty, she was at a point in her life where that topic had come up frequently and she had had to deal with it. "I know that I want to take that step eventually, but only when it feels right. I mean I like kids, don't get me wrong, but they are a huge responsibility... I don't want to mess up another human being's life. Sometimes I doubt I'm mom-material..."

"You're being too hard on yourself," he frowned, clearly not approving of her self-deprecating attitude. "Why wouldn't you make a great mother? You're caring, funny, sweet, determined..."

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. "Thanks for saying that, but you're leaving out moody and headstrong. Those two adjectives sort of mess up the list."

He shook his head. "Nah, I've got a bunch of other nice things to say about you, so I'm not too worried..."

"If you say so..."

"I do and I'm usually right about things...," he told her determinedly.

There was a brief moment of silence between them. She broke that silence by blurting out the following, inevitable question: "So you definitely want to have kids?"

"Yes. Eventually," he admitted, "is that a problem?"

"Not a problem," she shook her head. "Well, if eventually means right now, then 'yes'. So maybe you should tell me what you mean by 'eventually'?"

"Eventually means when my life has quieted down enough, so I can actually be there to see those children grow up," he explained.

She nodded slowly, processing his words. "Okay... You know that the fact that we're talking about this right now is kind of strange, right? I'm not used to this. I've never been in that type of relationship where the issue of children was brought up..."

"Why?" he wanted to know.

"I don't know. Maybe it just wasn't that important. Or maybe it's never come up before because it wasn't necessary to talk about that sort of stuff...," she thought out loud.

"Well, it becomes necessary when you're trying to figure out whether you'd work out in the long-run," he told her softly.

"I guess," she nodded. "Also I like I said before. I'm not a very motherly type. But there's something to think about..."

"Something to think about," he repeated, "So that means that this isn't a definite 'no'?"

"Exactly," she hesitated and blushed a little before she continued, "I think there's a good chance of me warming up to the idea. We'll see. Besides, thanks to Tim I'll have plenty of opportunities to practice. I get to try out being an aunt first and see how that works for me... Aunt Nina. Has a funny ring to it, hasn't it?"

"Aunty Nina," he smiled. "Would that make me Uncle Steve?"

"Probably," she smirked.

"Uncle Steve sounds like the type a guy who wears felt slippers and smokes a pipe," he made a face. "Maybe I'll let them call me Sheamus. Now that's got a nice ring to it... Uncle Sheamus."

She laughed. "Right. Cause Sheamus is so easy to pronounce for a toddler. Much easier than Steve..."

"Not a difficult decision when it comes down to being funny-old-slippers-guy or the cool-wrestler-bloke," he pointed out with a shrug.

"Just out of curiosity, cool-wrestler-bloke, how many children are we talking?" she asked him.

"I'm Irish, so I was thinking six...," he joked and she threw herself back on the mattress with a grin and an overdramatic "Oh, my God!"

"Six?! We'd better get started now then, if you want to have six children."

"We'd better not." He let himself fall back on the mattress next to her. "We're gonna end up with six wee brats with me temper and your big mouth. It's gonna be hell..."

For a second they both fell silent, probably because inevitably they had to imagine what those children would look like. Children with his blue eyes, fair skin and her light brown hair. That didn't sound too bad now, did it? Still the subject was about to become too serious, so they both continued to make their jokes about it.

"Well, one thing is for sure: We'd spend a bunch of money on sun screen. Combine my pale skin and yours, we're going to end up with children so pale those old mayonnaise jokes won't even work on them," she chuckled. "They'd be practically translucent."

"Oi!" he grinned. "Don't get started with these bloody jokes. I absolutely resent them. I'm only that pale because I'm ginger."

"And I love every inch of your creamy white skin," she cooed with a shit-eating grin and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "It's like you're chiseled from stone. From alabaster."

"Alabaster? Really? Oh, I'll put some manners on you, little lady!" He propelled himself forward and she soon found herself pinned underneath him. His eyes had that mad expression to them again that had his adversaries in the ring on their toes. On her the effect was different, however. She always felt a feeling of giddy anticipation when he looked at her like that.

His fingers sneaked underneath her shirt. He was going to tickle her until she begged for mercy. He started moving his fingers experimentally. There was no reaction.

"I'm not ticklish," she told him triumphantly.

"That's what you want to make me think. Everyone is ticklish, I've just gotta find the right spot," he wiggled his eyebrows at her. He traced his fingers once more over her sides. "Sure this doesn't do anything?"

"Positive," she told him with a smile. "Well, it feels rather nice, but definitely doesn't tickle."

His hands traced lower, over her thighs. "You were going to find out whether I was ticklish or not, not start fondling me," she admonished when his fingers briefly kneaded her legs.

"Can you blame me? I'm a starved man," his eyes shone in the dimmed light of the bedroom. She held eye contact with him and eventually shook her head as if she wanted to shake off a daze. "Damn! Don't say things like that. It makes me want to jump you."

"Jump me? You're free to do that any time, me darlin'," his fingers had made it to the hollow of her knee and she tensed, because she knew what would happen next. He started tickling her and she muffled the little squeal that was threatening to break out of her by covering her mouth with her hands. He continued with an evil glint in his eyes. If she could have erupted in loud giggles, it certainly would have been less of a torture for her, but with her mother sleeping next door that wasn't an option.

She was breathing heavily by the time he finally asked: "Do you give?" She nodded vigorously, especially because he still had his fingers in place to break out a fresh round of torture.

"Take back that alabaster remark right now!" he demanded.

"I can't," she told him. She was lying on her back, trying to catch her breath. "I was 50 % serious."

"I'll be damned!" he laughed. "Alright, luv, if you have to be all mushy and sappy, could you at least not make it sound like you're quoting a Dropkicks song? Might make a fella think you're being ironic or somethin'."

She frowned. "A Dropkicks song? Which one?"

"What was it again?" She saw him frown in concentration. He hummed a few notes then grinned. _"I'm a man of the night, a real ladies delight See my figure was chiseled from stone…,"_he sang softly.

"Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced?" she supplied with a smile.

"Yeah, bang on. That's the one."

She laughed and let out a content sigh. "I've really missed this," she smiled, gesturing with her index finger between the two of them.

"You've missed what?" he smiled and lay down beside her, his head propped up on his left arm.

"Being silly with you. You're the only one who brings out that side of me. I like it. Makes me relax. It's great."

"Well, you're stuck with me, luv. So you'd better. Talking about being stuck, what are your thoughts on marriage?" he leaned over her. The nonchalant delivery of that last line had her almost choke.

She blinked at him wide-eyedly and he had to chuckle a bit at the silly expression on her face. It was priceless.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully after she had finally caught herself. "If I get married one day, it must be a very private, low-key ceremony. It's not about everybody else, but about two people who love each other. I don't want hundreds of people staring at me. It would make me feel self-conscious. I think the only three people who have a right to be there are: the groom, the bride and a priest or a justice of peace."

"Sounds about right."

"It does?" she gave him an astonished look. She had expected him to have more traditional ideas on marriage, but it seemed they were on the same page there.

"I couldn't help but noticing you saying 'IF get I married', you don't want to get married?" He seemed genuinely surprised that she might not want to walk down the aisle. She was the first woman he met who didn't seem too keen on the idea of marriage. It got him curious.

"Only if it makes sense..."

"'Only if it makes sense'," he mockingly repeated. "Come on, don't be so evasive," he pinched her cheek.

She made a face and swatted his hand away. "Alright, I have a hard time believing in forever and ever, if you must know. I'm a realist at heart. If you look around, there are hardly any couples who have been married for a long time and are still happy."

"Well, there would be me parents," he said matter-of-factly. His tone had a certain adamancy to it. It made her realize something about him that she had so far not figured out. He was a romantic at heart. Unlike her he seemed to believe in happily-ever-afters. It was kind of cute. No, cute sounded so deprecating. She didn't think any less of him because of it. Actually, if that was even possible it made her think more highly of him.

So instead of teasing him mercilessly, she said: "I don't know your parents."

"That can be fixed," he told her and saw her gulp, which made him smile. "Relax. Me ma' is not an old dragon like yours..." She lightly punched his upper arm for that remark.

"Alright, alright, hold your guns! I was just messin' with ya. Your ma' is a lovely ol' lady," the irony in that statement was hard to miss.

"We get along like a house on fire," he added. In fact it was apparently mutual dislike at first sight. It did seem to preoccupy him too, because his next question was anything but humorous and delivered with an accompanying preoccupied frown. "By the way, what do I do about that, luv?"

"You've got to be patient, I guess," Nina shrugged.

"Great, one of me all time strong suits," he said and rolled his eyes. "Have I mentioned, we're getting away from the topic of how you might or might not want to marry me one day?"

The way he put it, made the question very, very personal. She blushed and looked down. They had resumed their positions from before again, him leaning against the headboard of the bed, her sitting cross-legged on the mattress next to him. He placed his index finger underneath her chin and made her look at him. His face was calm and relaxed, but there was also a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. It was that latter emotion that had her scooting forward a little until she was sitting so close to him their breaths almost mingled.

"Before I met you I used to tell people I never wanted to get married. You've had me going from 'never' to 'if'. That's already quite an accomplishment. I'm sure you can get me to say 'when' instead of 'if' as well, if that's what you really, really want," she told him.

"Sounds like I have you wrapped around me little finger," he smiled triumphantly.

"Don't get any ideas, Red," she smirked. "You had it about right when you gave me 'The Taming of the Shrew'."

"Red," he scoffed. "How original!"

"Sorry, if that didn't quite meet your high standards. I think I can get a bit more creative. Do you prefer Freckles? 'Cause you've got all those cute little freckles on your nose," she teased.

"I swear sometimes I have no idea why I put up with you," he said and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Let me think about that... Ah!" she beamed at him proudly, "It's because you love me and worship the ground I walk on, right?"

"That's gotta be it, luv," he told her softly, his voice lacking any trace of irony whatsoever.

"Now, don't do that. That's a low blow."

"What is?" he smiled innocently.

"Don't go around saying things like that. You're being too nice. One day you're bound to make me cry."

"I don't want to make you cry, luv." He pulled her into a hug against his chest. "All I want is to see you happy."

"I am happy. I am with you."

"Oh, you! Shut up!" he told her laughing softly.

"Why?"

"'Cause you don't want to see me get teary-eyed as well, darlin'. It's an ugly sight. I get all red-faced..."

"So this," she pulled back and motioned with her hand at his hair and then at his face,"... and this is finally one color? Cool! Can't wait to see that!"

"Do you even listen to what you're saying, luv?! You want to see me cry? Seriously?" His eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline.

"No, I want to see the blush that matches the hair. Oh, look! If you get all huffy like that it almost does the trick...," she threw him a naughty grin.

He growled playfully and pressed a silencing kiss to her lips.

"Okay," she blinked with a dazed grin on her face when he pulled back. "That's one way to settle an argument."

"No, unfortunately I'm doing it all wrong," he shook his head. "That's positive reinforcement. It doesn't make your bad behavior go away. And there's more positive reinforcement heading your way, because I've got a present for you."

"Since when do you know about positive reinforcement?" she asked.

"Since my sister is a psychologist?" he supplied, upon which she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Shit!' He chuckled. "Now stop swearing, close your eyes and stretch out your left arm."

"What are you going to do? Pour some slime over it as a punishment?" she asked, nevertheless she closed her eyes.

"Whatever gave you that idea? I'm not that much of a bastard... Well, on occasion..." She let out an unladylike snort. "Sometimes," he amended. "But definitely not now, alright?"

"Alright," she agreed and stretched out her arm. She had her eyes closed as well, just like he had asked. "Happy?"

"Yeah, good girl," he patted her head. Shortly after she heard him move about in the room, open the zipper of his bag and pull something out. The mattress dipped under his weight when he sat back down. The telltale sound of gift wrapping paper being torn filled the room. Then she heard a soft jingling noise.

"Hmm, sounds interesting," she said and took in a sharp breath as something cool and metallic wrapped around her wrist.

"Handcuffs?" she teased. "Oh, baby, you shouldn't have… I told you I wasn't going to run..."

"Haha! Very funny. Stop acting the maggot, luv," he reprimanded her. "You can open your eyes now."

She did as she was told. Her eyes immediately landed on her left wrist. There was a silver bracelet dangling from it. She inspected it more closely. A small silver four-leaf clover was hanging from it and on the covers of her bed there was a Tiffany's box and torn gift wrapping paper. Her mouth fell open. "I repeat myself. You really shouldn't have…"

"You don't like it...," he concluded with a disappointed expression on his face.

"I do. I do!" she exclaimed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "It's beautiful, but it must have cost you a fortune..."

"May I remind you I'm not exactly destitute," he told her. "And you need a bit of luck since you keep telling me you're the world's biggest klutz, which I think is deffo a big exaggeration."

"Deffo," she echoed and chuckled.

"That's what sticking with you after this?" he frowned.

She didn't notice his frown because her eyes were still fixed on the four-leaf clover. There appeared to be something engraved in it. She raised her arm in front of her face to inspect it more closely. It was their initials. Without any further ado she grabbed the stunned Irishman in front of her by the collars of his shirt and pressed a lasting kiss to his mouth.

"I take it you like it," he said after the kiss had ended.

"Like? That's putting it mildly! I love it," she told him. "I'm never taking it off again."

* * *

Nina went downstairs to get her mail. She was humming some song under her breath as she jumped down the last three steps and came to stand in front of her letter box. She had to leave for work in roughly an hour and Stephen and she had gotten up earlier, so they could spend some more time together, while her mother continued dozing on the couch.

Nina pulled back the sleeve of Stephen's shirt; she was wearing it over her dark grey dress like a coat. It got in the way as she stretched out her hand to get her mail from that little compartment in the wall and she pushed it back. She quickly browsed through the letters, as she made her way to back to the elevator. Half of them, especially the bills, were a waste of paper. There was one envelope that gave her pause, however and made her heart race. It was from the publishing house she had sent her short stories to roughly a week ago. She wanted to rip it open as soon as possible, but suppressed the impulse for now. No matter what was inside that envelope, whether it was another one of those politely put and impersonal refusals or an acceptance she wanted to open it together with him, back at her apartment.

She pressed her finger a couple of times on the button for her floor, she practically ran down the corridor to her apartment, her hands shook when she fumbled around with her keys and finally managed to get the door open. Her feet skittered over the tiles of the kitchen floor when she came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room. Stephen turned around giving her a surprised look; he had been fixing them scrambled eggs and the pan was still standing on the stove behind him.

With a maniacal grin she waved around the envelope in front of his nose. Oh, right! She hadn't told him yet that she had sent her short stories to several publishing houses. It had happened during those three weeks of that silly self-imposed silence between them and there had not been the right moment to tell him yet. Fortunately he was rather smart and quick about figuring out things on his own.

He gently plucked the envelope from her grasp and his eyes fell on the name of the publishing house. "This doesn't mean what I think it does, right?" he gave her a look that was wavering between pride and incredulity.

"Yes, it just might," she answered eagerly. She was barely able to contain herself anymore. This was worse than waiting for Christmas Eve as a child. "Open it!" she urged him on. Of course now of all times he chose to display his gentlemanly side.

"Are you sure...?"

"Stephen, I'm damn sure! Now open that stupid envelope already!" she hissed, but miraculously managed to keep her voice down in order to not wake her mother who was sleeping next door. It was only seven in the morning after all and there was no need to rouse her from her sleep.

Stephen was left unfazed by her display of temper. By now he had learned that most of it was only smoke and mirrors. "Relax!" he told her with a grin. "I've got this."

Her answer was a strained noise like an 'aaaah' and an energetic gesture towards the envelope. He ripped it open and pulled out the letter. She watched his familiar blue eyes flit over the lines written on the piece of paper, trying to interpret the expression on his face. When a smile started spreading on his face, she grew even more impatient. "Let me see!" she demanded, quickly stepping next to him to study the letter as well. Her eyes fell on phrases like "We are happy to...", "We would like to congratulate you on..." and finally "It would be our pleasure to publish your material". "This can't be real!" she shook her head in complete disbelief.

"Looks pretty real to me," he told her with a reassuring grin on his face as he watched the expression on her face change from hopeful to completely euphoric. With a loud squeal she launched herself forward and he caught her in his arms. She pressed a rather wet and sloppy kiss to his cheek and then pulled back to do a little victory dance in front of him. "I'm going to be a published author! I'm going to be a published author!" she sang while she was performing moves that oddly reminded him of one of Fandango's performances. He watched her antics with a grin and the teasing words: "Stay like that. I'm going to quickly zip over to the bedroom and get me mobile!"

His comment alerted her to his presence once again. She hugged him again. He was starting to feel like an over-sized cuddly toy by now, but he let it happen, because he loved her and secretly, but rather begrudgingly, enjoyed every minute of it. "Steve, do you know what that means? How often I've tried. This is like the holy grail!"

"I know. I'm happy for you, luv," he told her and hugged her more tightly to him. There was a smile on his face now too.

She pulled back to look at him. "You're amazing. Do you know that? Thank you," she told him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she peppered his cheek with kisses as she repeated those words, leaving him wondering whatever he had done to merit this.

"This sure is a pleasant change from being swatted on the arm and told off. Whatever's gotten into you, luv?" he asked with a smirk.

"Don't you remember? You wrote those little annotations next to my stories back when you read them? I found them and they sort of got me inspired to revamp a lot of my stuff. Well, actually I rewrote about half of it, but that's beside the point. The point is that it was those little pencil written, scrawly..."

"Oi!" he interjected.

"Alright. Those not so scrawly notes from brilliant old you that got me inspired to change a lot about the plot and the characters. You're like my...," she grinned, for now keeping the word in, "Oh hell! You're like my muse," it burst out of her. There was definitely a teasing undertone to her smile now, which he immediately picked up on.

"Aren't muses usually a bit more posh?" he asked.

"Stephen...," she inclined her head to the right, her tone was indulgent. "A bit more posh? I don't need some pompous, pseudo-intellectual ass to get me inspired..."

Despite her reassurances, it was moments like that he was reminded of the fact that they came from two completely different backgrounds. She had probably been read Shakespeare sonnets as a little baby, while his dad had told him stories about football and his mates down at the pub. "Some people, most definitely including your mother by the way, would say I'm not posh enough for you. They'd say we're from two different worlds..."

She made a grimace and waved him off nonchalantly as if he had said something completely ridiculous. "Phew! That's stupid! Two different worlds..."

"Brawns and brains... And we know who takes which part," he told her.

"Do we?" she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me you're getting insecure just because my mother gave you a couple of funny looks yesterday..." He shrugged his shoulders and she sighed, clearly exasperated with him. "In case you've been wondering, you're both the brawn and the brains, the whole package. I'm just the brains. And you've inspired me to do this," she held up the letter in his face to make her point. "So shut up about being insecure, Mister-I-like-to-strutt-around-in-my-trunks-in-fro nt-of-billions-of-people!"

"Alright," he amended with a smile. "If you say so..."

"I do. What is it anyways with you and that stupid feeling of inadequacy? I don't get it. I don't get it at all." She stood on her tiptoes and clasped his face between her hands. She looked deeply into his eyes as she said the next words. "You're my favorite person ever. There's nothing I don't like about you. And I'm picky about who I do or do not like. So suck it up! I don't ever want to hear anything about you not being right for me, because you're just right."

"Just right?" he echoed dumbfoundedly.

"Just right," she confirmed.

The moment was interrupted by two things occurring simultaneously. The scrambled eggs he had been preparing started smoldering, with smoke rising from the pan and everything and her mother announced her presence by clearing her throat. Stephen took care of the burning food, quickly taking the pan off the stove and putting it in the sink, while Nina greeted her mother with a fairly unenthusiastic 'hello'.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Mrs. Stewart announced with a grin that made it clear she didn't care whether she had interrupted anything or not. "What's going on in here? Not much of a cook, are we, Mr. Farrelly?" The mocking, almost taunting tone of her voice when she said the last sentence made Nina snap. It was the last straw after all those pointed remarks from yesterday.

"Mom, please stop it. He's not one of your former students! Can't you just leave him be for once?" Nina glared at her mother, ready to give her a piece of her mind, but before she could get that far Stephen took matters in his own hands.

"I might not be able to whip up a duck flambé, Mrs. Stewart, but even me skills in the kitchen are enough for some scrambled eggs," he told her coolly. "And I'd appreciate it if you got off me chest, because I am not really a threat. I'm just the poor fella who's completely smitten with your daughter. So if you've got a problem with that, you can either continue making those little comments of yours or you can suck it up and leave us in peace. Personally, I'd prefer the latter of those two options." After he was done ranting, he nodded at her once for good measure and then left the kitchen with the words: "I'm gonna go shave while you talk to your ma', Nina."

Her mother gave her a look like 'what the hell has just happened'. Nina was happy to tell her.

"What can I say? You pushed him too far," she shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "And before you ask," she held up her hand admonishingly, "you better get used to him being around, because this is for the long-haul."

Mrs. Stewart rolled her eyes. "Goodness gracious! You couldn't have picked anyone more bourgeois?"

"Mother!" Nina's tone was sharp and forbidding.

"What? I only want what's best for you," her mother told her innocently.

"Good," Nina replied, "Have a good look at this!" She thrust the letter into her mother's hands. "Wanna know how I got there? Because of his help."

Mrs Stewart's eyes widened comically as she read the letter. "But that's... that's..."

"Wonderful? Great? Awesome?" The older woman nodded. "His thoughts exactly. That's why he burned the scrambled eggs."

Mrs. Stewart sighed. She had just learned two things from the events of the still very young day. Her daughter was clearly serious about being with that Irish caveman and that, if she didn't at least make an effort to welcome him in the family fold, it would end badly.

"So given the fact that the two of would clearly starve to death, how about you come over to dinner tonight?" She had only forwarded that invitation very reluctantly, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was the right thing to do, because a slow smile started spreading on her daughter's features.

"I'd love to, but I think he'll need some convincing..."

"If it helps any, I can repeat my invitation once he gets back from shaving."

Nina could already imagine the sour expression on her mother's face as she would be extending her courtesy to a man she hardly knew, but had decided to dislike on first glance. Nina wanted to change that, not make matters worse, so she reassured her mother that that wasn't necessary.

"No need. I'll tell him later," she smiled and hugged her mother.

"That way you can also tell your dad about the letter and the fact that you're going to be a published author soon," her mother told her and patted her daughter's head affectionately.


	24. Blood On The Kitchen Floor

**Author's note**: Straight down to business. Thanks to my beta UntilNeverDawns, who's doing a fantastic Job with this story. I would also like to thank xthefirestillburns, Bharm and ThatGirl54 for their continued support. A kind word here and there really does wonders. Thank you, guys!

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Stephen was wearing a suit. Not just any run of the mill suit. No, he was wearing the kind that was hand-tailored, came with a matching vest and jacket and was rather posh. Although he looked like he came straight from the GQ cover shoot, he kept tugging at his tie. It was making her nervous, which was ridiculous, because they were only heading over to Hartford to have dinner at her parents' house, for crying out loud. This wasn't an award ceremony or an induction to the hall of fame.

Even though she had repeatedly pointed out to him that dressing up like that was ridiculous and over the top, he had stubbornly insisted on it being a necessity by saying: "No, way in hell am I going to give that banshee of your mother more ammunition by not dressing up for the occasion!" As a direct consequence Nina had been forced to dress up as well. She fidgeted in the driver's seat uncomfortably and he laid a reassuring hand on her bare knee.

"Relax, you look stunning, luv," he told her, referring to the black fifties-style dress that she had put on earlier. Since they had to drive over to Hartford for dinner, Nina had barely had time to get changed once she had come home from work. She had just grabbed the first thing from her closet which happened to be that little black number she was wearing now. Nina wouldn't have been Nina if she had been entirely comfortable with being dressed like a proper girl. She had joked that it made her look like a Stepford wife. He had merely quirked his eyebrow and told her that he had not been aware Stepford wives were that hot.

He had yet to remove his hand from her leg. By now it had wandered a little higher, which made her chuckle nervously and remove one hand from the steering wheel to put his own back where it belonged – on his side of the car. He frowned.

"Steve, you don't want us to die in a blazing car wreck, do you?" she briefly threw him a look, before concentrating back on the road again. "Because that's going to happen if you keep trying to encourage me to reenact the car sex scene from Basic Instinct..."

"Well, if you're uncomfortable about doing it while we're moving, how about you pull over?" he grinned and a devilish smile spread on her face as well.

"I swear sometimes you're such a guy," she shook her head, trying her best to sound disapproving, even though in her heart of hearts she had to admit the idea sounded VERY appealing. But at least one of them had to act the role of the responsible adult from time to time. It was unfair it had to be her right now. He really did look particularly handsome tonight. "And no," she added regretfully, "unfortunately we don't have any time for that. My mother hates tardiness."

"Come on! She's already decided that she's going to hate me, so what is a few minutes give or take?" Stephen pointed out.

"Only a few minutes?" she said, grinning at him.

"Seriously?" he raised his left eyebrow, shooting her a skeptical look that made her laugh. "What do you expect, lass? I've been through three weeks of celibacy and you look rather nice in that little black dress of yours…"

"You make that sound so tempting, sweetie," she mockingly batted her eyes at him for the fraction of a second before she refocused her attention again on the road. "But unfortunately we're almost there, so get your hormones under control, O'Sexiness."

"O' Sexiness?" he repeated incredulous and she just shrugged her shoulders with a smug grin.

"Get me hormones under control, she says," she heard him growl under his breath as reached for the flowers on the backseat. "Have you noticed how I always end up getting cock-blocked because of your family?"

She laughed. Actually he did have a point there. The first time they had wanted to sleep together her brother had come knocking at the door of her apartment in the middle of the night and now her mother had made sure with her presence that nothing had happened between them. "Okay, I agree. They tend to pop in on us at the worst possible moments."

"Yeah, well, I wish they didn't. The universe needs to cut us some slack," he said running his hand through his hair. For once he wasn't wearing a flat cap. She had told him that she wouldn't leave the apartment without him having done his hair properly. The threat had proven to be ineffective. He had just laughed it off and told her that he would be happy to lock the both of them up in her apartment until the cows come home. So after she had sworn under her breath and grumbled a bit because of his stubborn streak, she had ended up doing his hair like she had done so many months ago. Unlike back then, they ended up making out with each other like teenagers, which would have almost resulted in them being late.

"We're there," she announced finally after she had parked the car in front of a white two-story house with a lovely front porch. The garden was all neat. It looked like someone had trimmed the lawn lying flat on his belly, using a nail scissors and a ruler.

"So this is where you grew up...," he observed. He looked through the windowpane pensively and then back at her.

She nodded.

"Don't get me wrong. It's a lovely ol' place. But very home decorating magazine. I somehow can't see you and your brother chasing each other over the lawn."

Instead of an answer she removed her seatbelt and leaned over the handbrake to kiss him. She limited herself to a brief peck on the lips, because she knew her father would be lurking behind the curtains of that house, peering outside from time to time to make sure he would not miss her arrival.

"A kiss?" Stephen asked in astonishment, his voice mocking and surprised at the same time. "I thought I'd get a slap on the back of me head for that sort of comment..."

"Why? For saying exactly the right thing? Don't be daft," she smiled and he had to smile as well, because of what she had said and also because he had noticed his own vocabulary rubbing off on her more and more.

They got out of the car. Nina looked around suspiciously. Her dad was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this time he wanted to wait for her to ring the doorbell like normal people, which made her feel oddly disappointed. She rounded the car and came to stand next to Stephen. He clasped her hand and they started walking up to the front porch. The wooden stairs emitted a familiar creak when they stepped on them. Nina pressed her finger on the doorbell she hadn't rung in a couple of years. It had never been necessary before. Funny, she didn't remember it sounding like that.

The door was opened by her dad who, big surprise there, was also wearing a suit including a tie. "There you are, Nini!" he immediately pulled his daughter into a hug. When he let go of her, Nina threw a brief look at Stephen. She was trying to gauge his reaction upon hearing her father call her Nini. His grin had grown particularly impish now, which was sort of unsuitable for the situation at hand. Luckily it assumed less maniacal dimension when her father chose to address him.

"I assume those aren't for me," her father joked as he laid eyes on the flowers in Stephen's hands. "Pink carnations are Nina's mother's favorites. My daughter has briefed you very well, I see. I'm Jonathan Stewart," he held out his hand to Stephen who shifted the flowers to his other hand and shook it without hesitation.

"Stephen Farrelly. Pleasure meeting you, sir," he said.

"None of that sir or Mr. Stewart business, please. It used to be Professor Stewart all the time. Now that I'm retired, I prefer John," he told the younger man. Nina was surprised by his words. Her father wasn't usually hung up on formalities that much was true, but he wasn't ready to let just anyone call him by his first name. So whatever first impression Stephen had made, it must have been a good one. She smiled.

"So my wife tells me you're a professional wrestler...," John remarked conversationally as he motioned Nina and Stephen to come inside. "I used to wrestle too, back in high school."

Stephen realized that her dad, much like her, wasn't someone to mince around matters. He was outspoken, but in a more elegant way than his daughter. He tried to be more apologetic and charming about it. "Really, were you any good?" Stephen asked with a smile.

"No," John smiled back. "I was more the bookish type. At the age of 16 I was all lanky and thin and wearing glasses so thick you could use them to start a fire. I eventually joined the track and field team and everyone was that much happier for it." In passing he tapped the back of his knuckles against one of many black and white pictures hanging in the hallway. "That's me."

Inevitably Stephen and Nina stepped closer. Nina had looked at those pictures many times, but she never grew tired of it. She turned her head to watch Stephen as he regarded the photo of her father with genuine interest. It showed, true to his words, a lanky boy aged 16 with a goofy grin on his face. He was sweaty and had just finished a race out of which he had obviously emerged victorious, judging by the medal in his hand.

Stephen's eyes wandered to the right. Next to that photo was one of Nina and her brother. She must have been around ten back then. There was a pair of glasses sitting on her nose and she was wearing braces, which were very much visible thanks to her toothy smile. Her brother was around six and sitting on top of a pony she was guiding by the reins. The expression on his face grew tender and he turned his head to smile at her.

She had always thought that photo to be hideous. He, however, seemed to disagree with her in that point. "Little Nina with braces and glasses. Haven't seen anything more adorable in a good long while."

"Yeah, she was a cute kid, wasn't she?" her father agreed. "But always such a little spitfire. She had so much energy in her. It was hard to get her to sit down longer than 5 seconds, let alone sleep. I think she gave me the first ones of these," John indicated the greying hair at his temples.

"They make Stephen dye his hair a shade darker than his original color. He won't even know if I give him any grey hair," Nina decided to pipe in before Stephen could even think of making a smart comment.

"I'm sure that's a consolation to Stephen, Nini," her father told her with a hint of irony in his voice as he threw her one of those many indulgent smiles he reserved especially for his daughter. "We'd better head over to the kitchen and say 'hello' to my wife, unless you feel like carrying around those flowers forever, Stephen."

They stepped inside the kitchen. Once again Nina was greeted by a familiar sight. Her mother was preparing god-knows-what and calmly sipping from a glass of white wine whilst doing so. Even in the middle of what seemed to be utter chaos, she kept her composure.

"Nina, Mr. Farrelly...," she started to say upon seeing them, but was gently interrupted by Stephen.

"Mrs. Stewart, allow me to present you with this little peace offering," Stephen held out the flowers to her. His smile would have doubtlessly melted the heart of any less strong willed woman, but Mrs. Stewart had not been called the Ice Queen of Hartford during her one decade-long reign over the literature faculty for nothing. She remained steadfast, even as Stephen added the next words. "And if it's okay with you, you can call me Stephen."

She nodded once and took the flowers from him. "Thank you, Stephen," she said, pronouncing his first name in a way that made it sound just as formal as Mr. Farrelly. Nina couldn't help but notice how her mother failed to extent the same courtesy back to Stephen and her father seemed to as well.

"So, Nina, Stephen, would you like something to drink?" Nina was aware it was her father's way of dissolving a tense situation while putting Stephen to the test at the same time. Lucky him, he had already mastered the first hurdle without even trying. People who were ambitious and liked to do sport always were welcome in her father's house. She had no doubt Stephen would do just fine.

"I'll have a beer, dad," Nina smiled at her father who was already walking towards the fridge. It was that one time he got away with drinking a beer during the week, so he was rather enthusiastic about getting it. "You, Steve?"

Stephen looked insecurely between John and Mrs. Stewart. Eventually his gaze came to rest on the fridge. "I'll have one, too, please, if that's alright," he said politely. She couldn't help but notice how he had come more reserved once they had stepped into the kitchen. Even his accent sounded more subdued now. Apparently he was trying hard to impress her mother. She felt a wave of affection flood her and she took his hand in hers and gave it a brief squeeze.

"Three people drinking beer inside my kitchen. It almost feels like we're inside a bar. A sports bar at that," Mrs. Stewart sighed.

"Don't pretend like that's never happened before, Maggie," John addressed her with a smile. "It's always like that when Tim is home," he stage whispered behind his hand to the other two. He got out three glasses from the kitchen cupboard and Nina produced the matching coasters from a drawer.

"Yeah, we use coasters in this household. Don't ask," she told Stephen with an eye roll.

"I'm afraid all we have is lager. I don't know if you like that," John told Stephen before he actually poured the drinks.

"It's fine, si...," he found himself slipping there for a moment, but only out of respect and courtesy. He was thrown a stern glance by Nina's father and quickly amended his mistake. He cleared his throat. "It's fine, John," he said.

"Nina, didn't you want to tell your father something?" her mother called out to her over her shoulder as placed the carnations in a vase, tugging a bit at the flowers to arrange them until they met her approval.

"Oh, erm... yes, well," she chuckled, taking a sip from her beer to come up with the courage to give her father the good news, "Listen, Dad… My short stories are going to get published."

Her father placed his own glass back on the kitchen counter. He looked at her incredulously for a couple of seconds before he moved forward to hug her. "That's great, sweetheart! I'm so happy for you!"

"Well, thanks," she answered, picking at her nails. Stephen saw that as a signal to take a step closer to her. He leaned against the counter next to her and when he felt sure nobody would notice he discretely took a hold of her hand. "But don't expect anything too big out of me. I'm surely no Hemingway or Poe," she said, albeit now with a tiny smile on her face. She had finally mastered the talent of understatement, though at the most inopportune moment, at least in Stephen's opinion.

"I think they're brilliant. You're brilliant, luv," Stephen's voice was overlapping with her mother's and father's protest, but it was his voice she heard the clearest. Perhaps it was because he was standing right next to her and she was looking at him.

"Yes, listen to Stephen," her father encouraged her. "He might be onto something there. I'm sure he as an Irishman will be able to spot literary talent. After all Ireland is home to many gifted writers."

"And many people who like boozing," her mother let out a derisive snort, which earned her one of her John's rare genuinely disapproving glances.

"You're both right, actually. Most of the times it was a combination of those two things," Stephen joked good-naturedly, for once determined not to let any of Mrs Stewart's comments get to him. "We have had a lot of brilliant writers who enjoyed drinking the juice of the barley. Beckett, Shaw, Wilde..."

Nina's mother quirked her eyebrow, clearly surprised by Stephen's display of literary knowledge.

"Yeah, one has got to wonder whether they managed to be so brilliant because of that or in spite of that. I seem to recall hearing someone say God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from ruling the world," Nina said and raised her glass in a silent toast.

"Well, I'm not that much into whiskey, so there's hope for me yet," Stephen grinned and lightly clinked his glass against hers.

"Oh ever so humble, Farrelly! So you've got your own little world domination scheme already planned out? I can't help but wonder what role I will be playing in that...," she smiled for once breaking out of the formal situation by making a comment that was very much like her.

"That's entirely up to you," he said ever so vaguely in a rather neutral voice, which left her sort of disappointed. That was not how their banter worked! It was like they had met for a western shoot-out at noon and he had brought a banana instead of a gun. She gently nudged his side. He just gave her funny look which she reciprocated with a pointed stare. What the hell was going on with him tonight? He looked different, behaved differently… Admittedly the suit gave him the air of a ginger James Bond, but that wasn't him. She wanted her cheeky Irishman back. She wanted to loosen his tie, help him out of that stupid blazer and tell him to start acting more like himself again.

"Why don't you give Stephen a tour of the house?" her father suggested, keeping her from commenting on Stephen's weird behavior for now.

"Of course," she smiled brightly. This was actually a brilliant idea. Perhaps, if they got away from her mother, Stephen would loosen up again. She grabbed him by the sleeve of his blazer which gave him just about enough time to put his beer back on the kitchen corner, before she pulled him after her like an oversized teddy bear.

She stopped in the hallway. It was decorated with more photographs, but before he had the chance to take a look, she pointed at the two doors on either side of the hallway. "Study, living room, guest bathroom, dining room." Without any further ado she practically dragged him up the stairs. At the end of those stairs there was another hallway. "My brother's room, my parent's bedroom, bathroom, my room. Tour's over." She opened the door to the room she had referred to as hers and pushed him through. She didn't leave him any time to have a proper look at her room either. Just as soon as the door had closed behind them, she walked around him, placed her hands on his chest and gently pushing him back until he was leaning against the door. Warm light was streaming in through the window behind her and he had to squint to see her properly. For now she was just a dark silhouette. Then she moved a little closer, which allowed him to see her face and read its expression. For some reason she was annoyed. With him? He asked himself what he had done to merit this.

"What's up with you?" came her inevitable question, which didn't give him any chance to ask her why she was so annoyed with him.

"What's up with me?" he echoed. He thought for a moment. "Nothing."

"You're not acting like yourself. It's like you've suddenly become that PG-friendly, tame version of yourself. I want my Stephen back," she pouted.

"My Stephen," she had said. He kind of liked that title. Automatically he buffed his chest a little, taking in the expression on her face. The look on it was sort of disbelieving and desperate. It was adorable and flattered his ego, but that didn't make her request any less unreasonable. "Lass," he sighed, "you're really something else. I'm trying to behave meself to impress your parents. Don't you see that?"

"I do and I'm thankful for it. But I think you're getting a little carried away. I kind of like the way things are between us. Don't mess with that," she told him crossing her arms over her chest.

He chuckled at her words and at her gesture. He laid his hands on her elbows and uncrossed her arms before he pulled her towards him.

She was standing right in front of him now. Close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to see him blink a couple of times against the sunlight. Her fingers closed around the lapels of his blazer and she pulled him down, so his face was level with hers. He smiled at her before he leaned in to kiss her.

Kissing him, though it wasn't new anymore, still held the same excitement it had had in the beginning. It was different every time. This time it started out with a series of gentle and innocent little kisses. But there were also some little forays into naughtiness when his tongue briefly touched hers. She smiled. That was more like it. Her fingers closed more tightly around the lapels of his blazer and she came to stand on the balls of her feet to sling her arms around his neck and deepen the kiss.

"So this is your room," he said eventually after they had broken apart. Now she sort of regretted having dragged him in here, because his curious eyes were soon roaming all over the place. He was far too perceptive for his own good sometimes and she hated to think about which conclusions about her character all that pesky perceptiveness would lead to. He gently pushed her out of the way to take one more step to stand in the middle of the room. His eyes flitted over book covers, posters and the framed pictures on her desk. She couldn't help but cringe.

He took a step closer and in passing, touched his index finger to the Mr. Spock bobble head figure standing on her desk. The tiny Vulcan started nodding his head. Stephen grinned and inspected her collection of Star Wars novels that were lined up in the shelf over her desk with great interest. He eventually reached out and took one in his hands to leaf through it.

"I think the conclusion that I am a total nerd is quite inevitable by this point," Nina told him, leaning against the edge of her desk with a defeated expression on her face.

"Is it?" he smirked. "I kind of got that vibe from you, yeah." Given the fact that they were surrounded by all sorts of Star Wars and Star Trek related items which included a Yoda cuddly toy, sitting in the middle of her bed, his statement was rather humorous.

"Hahaha! Really funny!" she said and stuck out her tongue at him.

"Have I already told you about one of me odd jobs before wrestling?" he smiled at her, putting the book back on the shelf.

She shook her head, which encouraged him to go on. "Back when Episode One hit the cinemas, they were looking for a tall fella to fill Darth Vader's boots. Long story short, because I happened to be in the right place at the right time somehow, I ended up promoting the movie as Darth Vader."

"You're kidding me," she gaped.

"No, absolutely not," he told her in all earnestness.

Her eyes were sparkling now. They had that giddy exuberant look again he loved so much. She grabbed his elbow in enthusiasm. "Oh, my God! You're like the perfect man!" she gloated. Under normal circumstance she would never say something that mushy to him, so he basked in those words while he had the chance.

"Don't you forget it," he grinned at her. "I think it's time we headed back to your parents. They'll be thinking I'm doing God knows what to you if we stay away any longer."

She nodded and they started leaving the room. She tugged at his arm as he was just about to open the door. "Wait! Just answer me one last question..." He nodded and braced himself for that last question. Once Nina was allowed to ask a random question it could be anything.

"Did they let you keep the costume?" her eyes were sparkling and there was a mad smile on her face. He couldn't help but realize just how much he loved that half-crazed woman right then and there.

Despite that he let a long suffering sigh, mostly to tease her. "What's gonna happen if I say 'yes'? Will I have to model it for you?"

"Would you?"

"Christ, Nina!" he chuckled. "No!"

"Is that a definite 'no' or one of those 'noes' I can eventually work into a 'yes'?" she asked as they were walking down the stairs.

"It's one of those definite ones. As in no fecking chance in hell. You would have to get me absolutely paralytic to have me agree to that," he told her and threw her an admonishing glance over his shoulder.

A retort was already on the tip of Nina's tongue, but she never got to make it, because they were interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream. They both ran back to the kitchen, because that was where the scream had come from. Mrs. Stewart was clutching a kitchen towel to her finger, while her face was a grimace of pain. There was blood on the cutting board. Nina started asking her questions like "Are you all right? How bad are you hurt? Do we have to call 911?" John burst in through the door only seconds later, hovering around his wife with a worried look on his face with pretty much the same questions on his lips.

There was a lot of excitement in the air, but despite that Stephen remained completely calm. It was no wonder. He'd seen a lot of his colleagues bleed all over the place after ladder matches. He'd seen head wounds that needed to be stapled together, broken bones and bruises the size of Canada, so a little kitchen accident left him somewhat unfazed.

He walked over to Mrs. Stewart and gently touched her shoulder. The older woman looked up at him questioningly. "Can I have a look?" he asked, his huge hands already reaching for the kitchen towel she pressed to her finger. "Let's go over to the sink for that," he suggested and she complied.

Nina and her father were hovering in the background. Nina was the first to break out of her daze. "Do you need the first aid kit?"

"Yeah, be a love and get it for me, darling," Stephen told her, not minding for once what her parents thought about him calling her 'darling'. Currently they were distracted by other thoughts anyway.

He gingerly lifted the kitchen towel away from Mrs. Stewart's finger. He opened the tap and guided her finger underneath it. As the water ran over her injured finger, she sucked in her breath and he gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I can't see the cut clearly with all that blood." She gave him a tight little smile and a nod of understanding.

Stephen's eyes narrowed in concentration as he regarded the cut on her finger. It didn't look too deep. She probably wouldn't even need stitches, but they would definitely have to put some disinfectant on it and wrap it in gauze. As if on cue Nina returned with the first aid kit. Her verdict was about the same as his.

"I think it's enough if we wrap in some gauze, Mom," she told her mother and gently patted her on the shoulder.

Mrs. Stewart smiled bravely. "I just gave myself a fright, John," she turned her head to address her husband, "would you be a dear and get me a Sherry, please? I'm afraid cleaning the cut won't be very pleasant, so I' m going to need something to take the edge off."

"Sure, Maggie," he replied and left the room.

"He won't admit it, but he can't see any blood. It's better if we get him out of the room or he'll pass out," Mrs. Stewart threw Nina and Stephen a tight smile thanks to the pain she was in.

"Do you need any help?" Nina looked at Stephen.

"No, I got this," he said. "Just pass me the disinfectant and the gauze."

Mrs. Stewart watched with fascination and wonder as the roughly six foot man cleaned and wrapped her finger with a gentleness and diligence she hadn't thought him capable of. Perhaps she would have to go back on her initial judgment of calling him a brute. That 'perhaps' turned into a 'certainly' when he smiled at her after he was done with her finger and told her everything would be fine. She was beginning to understand what her daughter saw in him, but that didn't mean they would be pals from now on.

John returned and held the glass of Scotch under her nose. "Well, I'd better get back to work then," she announced after she had taken the first sip from it.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Stewart, but the hell you will," Stephen announced. Nina had to grin. Now that was the Stephen she knew and loved - a very hands on and down to business sort of guy. She couldn't help but notice how his Irish brogue had inadvertently become more pronounced during her mom's little mishap.

He took off his blazer and hung it over a stool that was standing in front of the kitchen isle. His tie followed right behind and he proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his shirt next. "So what do we do?" he asked her mother with the air of determination as he rubbed his hands together. Nina stepped next to him and threw her mother an expecting glance.

The stern expression on her mother's face that had been firmly set in place since they had arrived briefly gave away to a smile. But only very briefly, because she quickly caught herself again. "First of all you should put away the dirty cutting board and knife. There might still be blood on the working space..." For once her mother's voice didn't sound like she was giving out orders to someone who was her intellectual inferior; her tone had become a little more respectful. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, because she still had a close eye on them and didn't hesitate to criticize what they were doing and how they were doing it.

Stephen seemed to be unfazed by her comments, however. He calmly hummed a tune under his voice while he was chopping carrots into small pieces. Nina stepped next to him, not caring whether she invaded his space. Their hips were practically touching, she briefly leaned her cheek against his upper arm, the one that wasn't moving while he cut those vegetables into tiny pieces. Her mother was shooting them disapproving glances and rattled around the melting ice cubes in her glass like a rattle snake would rattle its tale, but Nina didn't care about those warning signals.

"What are you humming?" she asked Stephen.

He hummed a little louder. She started smiling. She knew that song. There was a certain irony in him humming "Unforgiven" by Metallica inside her mother's kitchen. What were those lines again? _Never free Never me So I dub thee unforgiven_? When he laid down the knife, she gave into the impulse of laying her arms around his midriff and pressing her cheek against his back. She heard her mother clear her throat behind them and ignored it.

"Unforgiven? Don't be such a drama queen, Steve," she whispered softly and gave him a last, brief squeeze before she let go and walked over to the stove to take the potatoes off of it.

"I'm a bloke. Blokes can't be drama queens, lass. We're at best bad-tempered," he pointed at her accusingly with a still intact carrot he hadn't used. To top the comment of he took a savory bite from it that was clearly audible throughout the kitchen.

"You keep telling yourself that, Red," Nina teased right back. She carried the pot of potatoes over to the sink and let cold water run over them. "I see you like raw carrots. Wanna help yourself to a raw potato as well? I seem to remember you bit into one last week during show time. How do you do it? It must taste disgusting."

"Really? That's disgusting," her mother commented in the background, which only let Stephen grin and shrug his shoulders.

"Well, Nina? Wanna see it again?" he leaned back against the kitchen counter casually, his neat and shiny Oxford Shoes crossed over each other in front of him. "How about a little wager? You sit down there," he indicated the stool on the other side of the counter, "and be quiet."

"That's it? Nothing more?" Nina asked in surprise. "How long are we talking?"

"Until dinner is served, which should be," he checked his wristwatch, "in about 25 minutes. You manage that and I'll eat an entire spud. You lose, you take a bite yourself. Deal?" he held out his hand to her. She hesitated briefly, but then shook it. "Deal." The terms of the bet sounded comparatively easy. Something about Stephen's smile had her hesitate though. To say that it was devilish would have been an understatement. He knew Nina well and he seemed to be quite sure she wouldn't be able to sit down and be quiet if he managed to push her buttons correctly.

"Personally I don't see the point of betting," Nina's mother pointed out. "It seems to be based on the concept of schadenfreude which simply fails to amuse me."

"Yeah, but it's also based of the concept of getting something you wouldn't under normal circumstances, Maggie," John pointed out to her.

"He wants our daughter to take a bite out of a potato! How can you condone that sort of behavior?" Mrs. Stewart said in an outraged voice.

"Only because her calling me a drama queen doesn't strike me as very respectful," Stephen pointed out and started mashing the potatoes. His biceps flexed under his shirt as he squished those potatoes with a fork.

"Understandable," John replied. "A young man like yourself wouldn't like to have his manliness questioned by a remark like that."

"I don't feel threatened by it," Stephen briefly interrupted his present activity to shrug his shoulder nonchalantly. "In fact this is just about having a little fun."

"I think this is not about fun. It's about your need to reassert yourself which most likely stems from a profound feeling of insecurity," Mrs. Stewart observed.

Trying to not let Mrs. Stewart comment get to him, Stephen started to carefully layer the different ingredients over each other in the casserole. She had luckily forgotten to impart instructions by now, another pleasant side effect of the bet. Because honestly, why would anyone want to tell an Irishman how to prepare a Shepherd's Pie?

"Does it?" he grinned. "I like to think a little wager over casual things makes life more interesting. As long as no one gets hurt... Me sister sees it me way, by the way and she's a psychologist, mind you. So I like to think she would be aware of the inferiority issue if there were one." He opened the oven and put the casserole in it. He rubbed his hand together in satisfaction over a job well done after he had closed the door.

"Your sister? Does she live in the States?" her father inquired curiously.

"No, but she comes to visit at me home in Tampa whenever she can." He could see Nina's interest was piqued by that remark.

"Tampa?" her mother asked and Nina couldn't help but be thoroughly unsatisfied with her question technique. Where exactly? Why Tampa of all places? He had never said a word about the fact that he owned a house in Tampa.

"She likes the weather there," he gave Nina a pointed look, daring her to say something now. He knew how she loved to get in the occasional teasing dig about his pale skin. "She takes every opportunity to sunbathe by the side of the pool she can get." Sunbathe? His sister? She supposed that fair complexion ran in the family. Sunbathing? How ridiculous! Wait a minute… Pool?! His house had a pool?! Nina washed down those question with a long drink from her glass of beer.

He rounded the corner and came to stand behind her, so that he was still able to look at her parents while he talked to them. His hands were resting at the base of her neck. He knew how she loathed being touched there. The timer on the oven was ticking down. She wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. Luckily he removed his hands from her shoulders and came to stand next to her.

Judging by the grin on Stephen's face, he was having the time of his life. She took a look at her watch. Unfortunately for him that time would only last about fifteen more minutes.

"Do you get to stay there often?" Mrs. Stewart asked.

Stephen frowned, trying to estimate the amount of time he usually spent at his house in Tampa. "A couple of weeks a year tops. Maybe next month I'll be able to go there again. But I've also got a little trip planned to the San Diego Comic-Con."

Nina's eyes grew large. The Comic-Con? No way was he going to go there alone. He was going to take her, right? She fidgeted a little in her seat as she desperately tried not to take the bait Stephen had so skillfully laid out for her. She let out a frustrated little groan.

He patted her arm sympathetically. "Poor lass, this must be killing you," he said, leaning on the kitchen counter next to her. Her eyes narrowed as she threw him what could well be labeled a death glare.

"She's holding up nicely, however," her father remarked, not without a certain pride.

Stephen gave her an appraising look. His eyes roamed over her face. He took in her stiff posture and the frown on her face. "Then again I can't help thinking that bet was a stupid idea. She looks about ready to burst. Come on, love. I'm calling the whole thing off."

Nina crossed her arms over her chest. One of her eyebrows was raised and gave her face a rather skeptical expression. She indicated the oven timer with her outstretched arm. Two minutes left. "Alright. Playing it rough. I understand," he nodded with a sigh.

Exactly two minutes later, almost simultaneously with the timer, Nina spoke again. He had expected her to fire all sorts of questions at him, but instead of that she only said. "I win."

"So you do," he confirmed as he pulled the Shepherd's Pie from the oven. Her mother's oven mitts with their pink floral pattern looked sort of ridiculous on him. He gingerly placed the casserole on the counter. It emitted a very nice smell, enticing enough to have her father jump into action. "I'll get everything ready," he announced, scurrying off to the dining room to set the table.

"Let me help you," Mrs. Stewart supplied. "I'm sure you've got no idea where our good china is." They both filed out of the room and left Stephen and Nina alone in the kitchen.

"I'm guessing you want to collect on your wager now," Stephen remarked.

Nina looked at him pensively. "What does it taste like?"

"Let me put it this way. There's a reason why people started boiling them," Stephen told her with a condescending smirk.

She thought for a second, and then shook her head. "You're a pest, but I don't think you deserve that, Farrelly."

"Anything else you want?" He wiggled his eyebrows and took off the oven mitts, which added immensely to his attractiveness.

"Yeah," she let her eyes roam up and down his body once and licked her lips. "But that's something you can only give me when we're back at my apartment," she told him. Nina hopped off the kitchen stool and rounded the counter so she came to stand right in front of him.

"And I've also got a couple of questions...," she told him looking up at him with a sweet smile.

He took a step closer and slung his arms around her midriff. "I suppose you do," he grinned. "About Tampa?" She nodded. "How about I'll try to answer them on the way back?"

"Deal, and you are taking me to Comic-Con," she told him, looking at him sternly.

"Am I now?" he grinned. "I didn't know that. Interesting. Maybe it's in my calendar somewhere where I keep all me important appointments…" He made a show out of taking out his cell phone and checking.

He frowned. "Doesn't seem to be in here. Sorry. Such a pity. It only says: Sheamus Comic-Con. Nothing about you. Well, there's always a next time…," he shrugged his shoulders.

She raised her hand to slap his upper arm. He caught her wrist with a grin. For being rather unpredictable most of the time she was on occasion rather predictable.

"Say "Pretty please, Steve!" and we're talking," he taunted her. His thumb was tracing lazy patterns over the inside of her wrist. Her eyes fell on it and he could see them narrow. She was getting worked up, which was sort of nice, because he liked it when she did.

"Never," she hissed.

"That or you sink those pearly whites of yours in one of those raw spuds and I might actually consider it…"

"Do you really think I wouldn't do that? Obviously you don't know me all that well," she said, already trying to tug her hand free to walk over to the pantry where her mother kept their canned goods and the potatoes. He let her wrist slip from her fingers. She raised her chin stubbornly and stormed over to the pantry, only to reemerge seconds later with a potato in her hand. He rolled his eyes in disbelieve.

"You're really going to go through with that?! I was only messin'!"

"If you insist on being a stubborn ass... Yes, I'm definitely going to," she announced and washed the potato under the tap.

"So are you going to take me?" She held the potato up to her mouth.

"Ha! You won't do it anyway," he said crossing his arms over his chest.

His eyes widened in disbelief as she took a savory bit out of the potato. She bravely managed to chew and swallow without making a face, but as her taste buds started to register what she was eating she eventually made a face and let out a disgusted noise. "Gah!"

"As ucht Dé!" he cursed and ran his hands over his face. That woman was driving him crazy. Once again he reminded himself that he was with her out of his own volition and because he loved her, craziness included. Well, probably because of that crazy streak she had in her.

"You just took a bite out of a bleedin' spud just to prove me wrong. What you did that for, you crazy lass?! I was seconds away from agreeing to take you without even making a fuss," he admonished her, just as her father popped in his head through the kitchen door to tell them they were supposed to come to dinner.

They both nodded at him in unison, Nina with a sweet smile like she was a perfectly innocent little angel, while she was hiding the potato she had just bitten into behind her back.

"So does that mean you are going to take me?" Nina whispered to him triumphantly.

"Yeah, but you'll be riding in a different car with a nice little white jacket that ties in the back," he said.

"Says the man who has probably eaten a whole sack of raw potato in his entire career...," she whispered back as they sat down at the table together.

"Four," he held up his fingers at her and gave her a sharp look.

* * *

Dinner was pleasant. The conversations remained polite, the food tasted good. It was the incident that followed after dinner that was thoroughly unpleasant.

Stephen, despite having loosened up again to the point of acting more like himself, still tried to impress Nina's parents, especially her mother, so he made an effort to be particularly attentive. After dinner he got up and helped with the dishes (he would have done that anyway). Not only did he carry them into the kitchen, but he also offered to wash them up (he probably wouldn't have done that under normal circumstances).

For some odd reason, that offer had him stranded with Nina's mom inside the kitchen. Alone. He had thrown Nina a couple of pleading looks, but it was no use. She had been whisked away by her father who wanted to show her some literary project he was working on, which left him alone with Mrs. Stewart, at the mercy of a woman nicknamed the Wicked Witch of Hartford.


End file.
